


The Justice in Surrender

by AkuChibi



Series: The Sands of Time [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Add more tags as they come, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst and Humor, Angst and Tragedy, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Dreams and Nightmares, Eventual Romance, Freeform, Friendship, Inquisitor!Hawke, M/M, Mercenary Group - Freeform, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Revenge, Timeline What Timeline, try it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-17 03:56:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 51
Words: 225,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3514469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkuChibi/pseuds/AkuChibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Corypheus follower gets a hold of the time amulet and successfully manages to go back in time and kill not just the Inquisitor, but the entire Trevelyan family. </p><p>That's the official story, anyway. </p><p>In truth, however, the youngest Trevelyan survives... and he's out for revenge. </p><p>Update 3/25/15: This story now has multiple parts and will begin getting into Inquisition as of chapter 17.<br/>Update 6/19/15: As of chapter 35 (36 counting prologue), rated E for Explicit (but not that explicit...?)<br/>Update 10/6/16: This is now part of a series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Living Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure why this exists, really. I was bored, and got to thinking: Hey, what would happen if Trevelyan was raised differently, so like if something happened to his family... and this is the result. It's pretty rough, and probably not the best, but I'm experimenting. This is my first AU-ish type thing outside of Supernatural and Mass Effect, so this should be interesting. Anyway - I hope you will enjoy it if you choose to read it, and I hope you will. Updates will probably happen randomly, depending on when inspiration hits. Also, I'm taking liberties with some things so not everything will be correct. I'm not going to be OCD about everything in the game like I have been in the past. 
> 
> ALSO, before you yell and say 'hey that's not right', it mentions Dorian's eyes as brown. I realize his eyes are more of a gray color. But, back when I started this story, I was going off what I could see on my old TV - which was fuzzy at best, so I really couldn't tell any small details. So I just said they were brown. By the time I got my new TV and everything and could see that they were more grayish, I already had a great deal of this written, so I just kept them as brown. Oh well.
> 
> I know this Trevelyan (Schuyler) shares the same name as the one in my other stories (One of Those Days, The Cursed Gift, etc.). If you want you can look at these as the same character, except, of course, this Schuyler dons a different name, and has a different background because of the whole 'time travel' thing. So those other stories are what happened in that timeline, before everything got altered. That's the life this Schuyler would have had if things hadn't happened as they did when he was a child. Hope that clears things up.
> 
> This is mainly a 'what-if' idea that got out of hand. I didn't want to get into Inquisition because then I felt confined to the game storyline, which we all know already. But I think I've taken enough liberties that it's still kind of fresh. I hope, anyway. Oh well, we'll see, I guess. Also, I do have plans for a sequel entirely of my own making. As it is - enjoy!
> 
> P.S. This now has multiple parts.
> 
> P.P.S: I truly appreciate comments :D They make me update faster, and leave me smiling. 
> 
> P.P.P.S: This is now part of a series.

**The Justice in Surrender**

 Prologue: Living Shadows

_The shadows are attacking._

This was very much what it felt like to ten-year-old Schuyler Trevelyan on the night his world ended.

It was a peaceful night at home in the Trevelyan manor. It was a special occasion – his father’s name-day – and thus all of the siblings were home. Siblings Schuyler hadn’t seen in years were in the house, filling it with pleasant chatter. Sisters, brothers, and his parents.

Sarabeth was the closest sibling to his age, nearly two years older than him. As much fun as he had with her, and the trouble they got into, it was nice to have the house full again. They spent the evening laughing, joking, and playing hide-and-seek like always. This time the eldest siblings even joined in as well, though they weren’t very good at hiding.

Schuyler was not only the youngest, but the smallest. He would always be small, he heard his mother say when he continued to complain. He was the runt of the litter, so to speak. Born early, born small, and it took him forever to grow. At age ten he looked as though he were six, too small to be taken seriously.

As much as he hated being small, it did allow him the best of hiding places.

He could maneuver his body and fit into tight places no one would expect anyone to be, and he was a hell of a climber, choosing tough to reach, small places to hide.

And maybe that’s why he survived.

From his position atop the tallest counter, in the shadows of the barely-lit room, far above prying eyes, he watched the shadows come to life.

He watched blood spatter the air.

He heard his siblings cry in pain.

He watched as Sarabeth was grabbed, a blade rammed through her belly. He wanted to climb down, help her, _do something_ , but in the end he was frozen with his terror, and she caught his eye.

She always knew where he was.

She always knew.

Just like now.

With the barest shake of her head she told him to stay put.

And stay put he did.

He stayed where he was while he listened and watched his family die around him. He heard the faint sounds of battle, his parents and elder siblings attempting to fight back, but the attack was quick and sudden, the shadows coming to life, and there was little they could do with simple dinner knives.

One by one they fell.

And then the house was silent. He remained where he was for a long time, late into the night, too scared to move, hoping – _praying_ – for someone to speak, to move, to do something so he knew he wasn’t completely alone.

He froze, listening intently, the sound nearly drowned out by the racing of his heart as it hammered away in his chest.

The footsteps grew closer. He watched as a figure entered the dark room, the candles long since burned out. Since he’d been here so long, though, his eyes were well adjusted to the dark. He watched the figure, not a shadow, but a person. A person with light-colored hair and a stony expression, from what Schuyler could make out, and he was _tall_. A giant. Built like Schuyler’s oldest brother, Maxwell. Strong and sturdy, a brick amongst men.

“It is done,” the person said mostly to themselves, a deep, bass voice. “You are certain they are all dead?”

“Yes,” came another voice. This person stood just out of view. His voice was more rough and nasally. “Seven bodies.”

_Seven bodies._

“The whole family,” the second voice continued.

_Seven bodies._

Schuyler tried to understand what this meant. His entire family was dead – except for him. He had four older siblings, and his parents. Including him, that was seven. Except he wasn’t dead, so who was the seventh body?

His eldest brother brought a lady friend over for dinner tonight. They had been together for months, both of them Templars. Lord Bann Trevelyan, their father, had been rather pleased with her.

And now she was dead.

_She took my place…_

And Schuyler just didn’t know what to do or think about that.

He attempted to scoot back a little more, feeling uneasy. Something twisted in his gut, more so than it had since the earlier screams had stopped.

“Then there is no one left to stop him,” the first person spoke again. “You have done well. Sadly, your services are no longer needed.”

“My serv-?”

The second person was cut off by this strangled, choking sound. Schuyler peeked over the edge to see the first person with their hand outstretched, magic thrumming through the air.

Schuyler had never been around magic before.

It was this odd and strange feeling, something off-putting yet enticing, powerful. It slipped through the room like a soft echo, silently doing something unspeakable to the man he couldn’t see. The choking sounds continued, until they, too, broke off, leaving only this unbearable silence.

The silence of the dead.

Then the remaining man walked away.

Schuyler remained hidden in the darkness for a long time.

Someone wanted him dead. Someone wanted his entire family dead.

And they thought they succeeded.

_They might come back._

They would come back come morning, when the servants returned after their night off, and realized everyone was dead. They would find Schuyler and reveal to the world that he was alive.

As soon as anyone who knew his family appeared, they would know he was alive.

And the killer would return.

Why? Why did his family have to die?

Tears pricked at his eyes. Throughout everything he didn’t cry, just stared in abject terror and horror as everything happened, but now… now the tears fell freely.

There was no escape.

The man would return. He would come for him to finish the job. As soon as someone entered the house, they would see everyone was dead except him…

_Then I have to be a body, too._

It was the only explanation.

He remembered hours upon hours of history his father spoonfed him, histories of battles, plans, the chantry, Templars and mages… Unlike his other siblings, history interested Schuyler. It was something he and his father bonded over. Books of any kind, knowledge, everything.

All those stolen moments together now bombarded him and the tears came faster, blinding him. His breaths, already shaky, now trembled with soft pants as he released them.

 _You know what you must do,_ said a voice in his mind, sounding oddly reminiscent of his father.

_Yes, Father. I know what I have to do._

It wasn’t something he _wanted_ to do, but he knew what needed to be done.

If he ever wanted justice for his family… justice for this night when the shadows came to life…

He was going to have to find the person who ordered this. The person who did this. The man with the fair hair and deep, baritone voice.

The only way he could do this was if all of Thedas thought him dead.

The only way to do this was to turn one of those bodies into _him_.

Or, at the very least, leave room for doubt. Doubt of the identity of any of the bodies. In that case the only logical conclusion would be for them to assume he was dead. This would mean doing terrible things to a dead body, an act he’d been warned against. The dead were dead, but they deserved respect.

And the thought of getting that close to a dead family member… to see what had been done to them…

He could see Sarabeth’s blank stare from here. Even in the darkness he knew where she was, and he could not get the image out of his head.

Pack. He would pack first. Then flee after he did this unthinkable thing.

He climbed down and began to collect what few belongings he would be able to carry, trying to ignore the tears streaming down his face. He wiped them away angrily; now wasn’t the time for tears. Right now he needed to think, and quickly.

That man could return at any moment.

It was then he smelled it.

Smoke. Hot and heavy in the air.

Then he heard it.

The crackling.

 _Fire_.

There was a fire.

He spun in place to find the flames licking at the back wall, already covering half the manor. With a gasp he stuffed his belongings quickly into the knapsack and ran for the nearest window. It took some maneuvering, but he managed to finally open it and jumped out as air rushed into the room from the chilly snowfall outside, and the fire grew even more.

By the time his feet hit the ground his clothes were charred and his skin was moist, damp with sweat.

The only upside was that he could leave now. There was no need for him to do anything to a body. The fire would do that for him.

The man must have started a fire to cover up any trace of what happened. Everyone would think it was an accident.

Except Schuyler.

He was the only one who would ever really know what happened.

He turned his back on what was once his life, and ran.

 


	2. Faded Tevinter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm... so apparently there's an OC in here too. Because... why not xD I don't know where he came from but I like him. Achem. Anywho. I'm sorry if things are wrong or out of place - I'm still trying to get the hand of this myself, so we'll see how this turns out. As always feedback is much appreciated and will determine how often or if this story is updated :P

Chapter One: Faded Tevinter

 

“Tell me about the Fade.”

The mage sitting before him, a bald elf with wide eyes, blinked back at him slowly.

“You _are_ Solas, right?” he asked, sitting in the seat across from the elf. “I was told you are the leading apostate on such matters.”

The mage regarded him blankly, before giving into a slow nod, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How did you come about this knowledge?”

“I have my ways. So, tell me about the Fade.”

“This is not an appropriate place for such a conversation.”

“It’s as good a place as any.”

This was true, of course; most of the tavern’s patrons were leaving for the night. All that remained were the few who booked a room here. After weeks and months of searching for Solas, he finally found him in a run-down tavern on the edge of a dying city. He was told Solas enjoyed traveling across Thedas looking for old ruins in which he liked to communicate with spirits.

Since he was looking for a particular mage and attacking shadows, memories stolen from his youth, he decided finding Solas and asking him a few questions was at least partially worthwhile.

“I am not comfortable addressing such matters here,” Solas said.

“Fine. Where, then?”

“Perhaps my room. I must warn you, I do have wards down. If you try anything I do not like-”

He held up a hand. “Let me stop you right there. I have no interest in attacking you.”

“That is a first, especially considering your… wardrobe.”

He looked down at what he wore. Basic prowler armor – light, maneuverable, and yet sturdy. It was also standard for his colleagues and his lifestyle.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he told the mage. “That’s not why I’m here. I wasn’t paid to kill you, and I’m not working with the Templars.”

“Then why _are_ you here?”

“I just want you to tell me what you know about the Fade.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. Plain and simple.”

“And why is that?”

“Why do I want to know about the Fade?”

“You are not a mage, and you say you are not a Templar. What use is it to you?”

“I have my own personal reasons,” he said carefully, narrowing his eyes at the mage. “Look, I could go elsewhere, but I’ve been told you’re the leading expert on the Fade. If I’m wrong, tell me to shove it and I’ll leave, no harm, no foul.”

Solas narrowed his green eyes at him for a long moment. His face seemed even more pointed now, all angles and suspicion, before he finally sighed and nodded, pushing to his feet, all elegance of a mage aware of his surroundings. His sources weren’t lying when they said he was knowledgeable; every fiber of him screamed intellect and wariness.

He followed the mage up the steps at the back of the tavern. Upon entering the desired room, he noticed everything neat and tidy. This was to be Solas’ last night here. As he was told about the mage, he knew Solas didn’t prefer to stay inside the city very long. As an apostate it was dangerous; as a traveler, confining. Solas preferred old ruins to that of the dull buildings of civilization. His sources weren’t lying when they said he would have to be quick if he wanted to catch Solas before he departed yet again. He lost count of how many times these past weeks and months he’d been so close to finally catching Solas, only to be too late.

The mage was good at covering his tracks.

Solas picked up his staff from the corner of the room. The ease with which his fingers wrapped around the edge left easily known how adept he was with his trade.

“You have me at a disadvantage,” Solas said, turning to face him, all suspicious angles again. “You know how I am, yet I do not know you.”

“I have many names,” he said with a smile. “Always wanted to say that.”

“And what are these ‘many names’?”

“Just call me Callum.”

Somehow that was the name that stuck. After never giving his name away, eventually someone just named him and it stuck. His identity, his true identity, needed to be kept secret until he was ready to reveal himself, and he still had a long way to go.

A decade spent training, honing his skills with dual blades, mostly living in the shadows…

He was so _close_. All he needed now was information, and a name. A name to go with fair hair and a deep voice.

Solas watched him for a moment, before he nodded, satisfied with the name, and sat on the bed, staff still held lightly in his grasp, ready to move at a moment’s notice. It was a trait he’d noticed in a lot of apostates.

“Okay, Callum. What is it you wish to know about the Fade?”

“Living shadows,” he said.

Solas frowned. “Living shadows?”

“Yeah – shadows that come out of nowhere and attack. Violently. Without mercy.”

“Perhaps you mean a shade?”

“Sure – go with that.”

Shade. Shadow. Same thing, right?

“Then you speak of demons,” Solas said, quirking a thin, delicate brow at him.

 _Fuck_.

Demons. He hadn’t really planned on demons. He thought, at most, it was a strange, powerful type of magic, but demons…

“Demons exist in the Fade, yes?” he asked.

Solas nodded. “Yes, that is true. So do peaceful spirits.”

He held up a hand. “Spare me the lecture. I know not everything’s evil. I just want to know about these shades. Can they be summoned? How do they get out of the Fade?”

“There are many ways. Yes, though, they can be summoned if a mage is powerful enough. This usually involves dark magic.”

“Blood magic,” he murmured.

“Essentially, yes.”

“I see.”

He chewed on his lower lip – a bad habit he picked up in his younger years. He bit his lip raw and red one too many times. Thankfully he didn’t do it as much and as roughly as he used to, but it was still a habit which was rather hard to lose. He ran his tongue along his bitten lip and looked back up into wide green eyes.

“Are there many blood mages around, then?”

“They can be found everywhere. It is more of a personal choice.”

“Why do I hear a ‘but’ there?”

“ _But_ ,” Solas said, shaking his head slowly, “I have often heard you will find more blood mages within Tevinter than anywhere else.”

_The Tevinter Imperium._

He’d heard of it during his travels. Vints, as they called them. Mages running around unchecked, consumed with power. He didn’t believe _everyone_ was terrible there, but that was certainly what it seemed like from life outside of Tevinter. The stories alone were gruesome and horrifying.

However, in this case, he was almost happy to learn he needed to turn his gaze toward Tevinter. Now he had a destination, for the first time in years.

_I’m looking for a blood mage working with shades, probably from Tevinter._

“Thank you,” he said, smirking as he nodded farewell to the elf and turned back toward the door.

“Is that all, then?”

“For now.”

“I won’t be here long.”

“I know. If I want more information I’ll just have to track you down again.”

“I am getting too easy to track.”

He laughed. “Hardly. I’m just good at my job.”

“And what is that, exactly?” Those sharp green eyes already knew, though.

_I’m an assassin by trade, researcher by choice. Well, necessity, I suppose._

“This and that,” he said, wrapping his hand around the handle of the door, tugging it open. “I’ll see you around, Solas. Maybe.”

“Perhaps you will. I wish you luck in your search.”

“Thank you.”

With that, he took his leave, closing the door silently behind him.

xXx

 _The Tevinter Imperium_.

Getting into Tevinter wasn’t a problem. While mostly run by mages – or so it seemed from the outside – one didn’t have to be a mage to be there. They did have soporoti after all.

Asking around for a blood mage was another matter entirely.

“No one is going to admit to using blood magic,” scoffed Emry.

Callum shot the dark-haired elf a dirty look. “Hush, you. What do you know about blood magic?”

“Well – I was originally a _slave_.”

“Of course – keep milking it. Was your master a blood mage?”

“Can’t say he was. He wasn’t even a mage.”

Callum smiled. “Then I ask again – what do you know about blood magic?”

“He had friends who were mages. One of them was a blood mage.”

“Do tell me more, princess.”

Emry scowled, dark brows furrowing over dying sunlight eyes. “What will it take to get you to stop calling me that?”

Callum smacked the back of his hand against Emry’s thin stomach. “Gain a body. You’re too princess-y.”

“That’s not even a _word_.”

“You _do_ realize if you were a princess you would be royalty, yes? Maybe I’m just complimenting you.”

“Oh, really? Is that what you call it?”

Callum grinned even as passersby gave them odd looks. He scowled back at them in return, aware that their gazes were mainly meant for Emry. Emry sighed, shoulders slouching as he noticed the looks, too, and Callum’s light mood vanished.

“Ignore them.”

“Easy for _you_ to say, Serah Callum.”

“Oh, quit that nonsense. You’re with me, princess, cheer up.”

“Why did you drag me here, again?”

“Because otherwise you would have been on a solo mission.”

“It wouldn’t _be_ a solo mission if you would quit this nonsense and do your job like you’re supposed to.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve never been involved in any of this ‘nonsense’ you speak of.”

“Callum. Why are we here when our job is in Ferelden? It’s going to be a week’s journey if we leave now.”

“Look, I just need a day or two, okay?” Callum said, scowling.

“And why is that?”

“I just do, okay?”

“To learn about blood magic? Are you secretly a mage?”

“You’re hilarious.”

Those sunset eyes narrowed at him. “Be serious with me, Cal – _why are we here_? Is this about living shadows again?”

Callum scowled. “You said you were too drunk to remember that conversation. You’re such a liar, Em.”

“Spare me the lecture and tell me the truth, please.”

Sunset eyes met his own copper green eyes in a glare.

“Do not lie. Tell me.”

“It’s just – something I need to do on my own.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Fine, I’m sorry for dragging my _best friend_ with me on a personal journey. I will never involve you again.”

“I wouldn’t mind being involved if you would just tell me what’s wrong.”

Callum chewed on his lower lip. That blighted habit. “It’s… something personal.”

“Tell me, Cal. If you can’t tell me, then who can you tell?”

This was true. He and Emry had been friends for a long time. Six years, in fact. They trained together. Slept together. Ate together. Did odd jobs together. If there was anyone he could mention this to, it was Emry, and it was long overdue.

“When I was little…” He cleared his throat and tried again, quieter this time. “When I was little I saw… something.”

“Living shadows?” Emry asked, quirking a fuzzy brow, face half-hidden in that veil of black hair.

“Something like that, yes. They… It… whatever. Look, my family was killed, and I need to find out who did it. That’s it. That’s the secret. Happy you know now?”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I’m telling you now, isn’t that what’s import-”

A hooded figure rounded the corner then, nearly toppling Emry over, causing him to spiral into Callum. Callum scowled at the passerby who didn’t even spare them a look.

“Hey, watch it, buddy,” he said as he righted the elf and looked at the hooded figure.

The guy behind the hood tossed him a quick look.

“My apologies,” he said briskly, in a heavy Tevinter accent, brown eyes aglow.

“In a hurry?” he asked.

“You could say that.”

With that the hooded figure departed, quickly moving through the crowd, heading toward the edge of the city.

Callum shook his head and looked at Emry. “How about this – we spend a day looking into this, then we can head back to your little job.”

“ _Our_ little job. And it’s not little. It’s big money.”

“As always, I’m sure. And if I learn anything new I can come back later, on my own, if you don’t want to be involved.”

As much as searching for his family’s killer was to him, he did have a job to do. Not doing his job wasn’t an option. His superiors would be very unhappy with him, and he rather liked his spleen where it was. He accepted this job before he realized he would be traveling right past Tevinter. How could he not stop by for a bit and get a feel for things?

Now, though, he knew Emry had a point. They could afford a day here – but no more. Perhaps after the job was done, they could return here and try again, but for now, this would have to be a quick visit.

Emry was right, though – he could have just let Emry take care of the job alone, but he didn’t like doing that. They were supposed to be partners and work together, Emry the archer firing from a distance with his precise shot, and Callum with his stealthy ‘in-your-face’ style. They were supposed to do these jobs together. Plus, Emry wasn’t very adept on his own. While they trained together, he wasn’t nearly as good at hand-to-hand combat, or daggers, as Callum was. This meant if someone managed to get up close to Emry, he would have a very hard time fending them off with just his arrows.

Thus, they worked together, and he wouldn’t send Emry on the job alone.

“One day,” Emry said, watching him. “We can come back after we collect our money.”

Callum smiled. “I knew you’d see it my way. Alright – if I were an evil Tevinter blood mage, where would I be?”

“In an impenetrable mansion, I’d say.”

“Ah – but there’s no fun in the challenge otherwise.”

xXx

The day came and went, and they had nothing to show for it. While there were blood mages in Minrathos, that did not mean they were open about such things, and no one, mage or otherwise, liked talking about such things. Therefore there was little information to be gained in one day of looking around, especially for a tall, fair-haired blood mage that might not even live here.

At the end of the day they headed out of the city to get a head start on their journey as they were already behind. This was completely Callum’s fault; it wasn’t Emry’s choice to go in there, being an elf, but he went for Callum because that was what friends were for.

Emry was a good friend.

“We can stop when we get tired,” Callum said. “I’ll even be generous and let you sleep first.”

They always slept in turns, just in case some local bandits decided they were worth attacking. Any who tried were sadly mistaken. Few that they were, they were deadly on their own. Together they could be nearly unstoppable with Callum’s stealth and Emry’s covering fire.

With their agreement in place they traveled late into the night.

The sun began to rise before Emry started yawning.

It was nearly noon before they decided to stop for a few hours.

Emry, staggering toward the chosen clearing in the woods, suddenly yelped and was flung onto his back by some unseen force, a symbol flashing on the ground. Instantly Callum entered stealth mode, going invisible to the naked eye as he approached his friend and looked around.

The hooded figure from before sat up from where he’d been resting against a tree off to the side, unseen until they further entered the clearing, where this trap was sprung.

Emry shivered, the ice spell wearing off slowly as he sat up, reaching for his bow.

“Fucking mages with their blighted ice spells and fucking-” was the sentence spewing from Emry’s lips as that hood pulled back to reveal fine combed, dark hair and light honey brown eyes, along with a thin, curvy mustache.

“I apologize,” the mage said with that same accent as before, “I merely placed wards to defend myself while I dozed.”

“You again,” Emry muttered, glaring up at the man.

“Again?” the hooded man, without his hood now, shook his head. “That’s right – I saw you earlier, in Minrathos.” Then his gaze became guarded. “Are you here to take me back? You’ll be sorely unhappy with the outcome if you try, I warn you.”

“We’re not here to take you back,” Callum said, coming out of stealth mode now that there wasn’t any immediate danger, causing those whiskey brown eyes to look his way instead. “We’re merely traveling. We didn’t mean to bother you.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “We mean you no harm. But if you wish to fight us – _you_ will be sorely unhappy with the outcome.”

Emry jumped to his feet, glaring at the man all the while, still shivering as he shouldered his bow.

The man stared at them for a moment, and then burst out laughing, nodding as he flashed them a quick smile. “I see. In that case, I will take my leave, shall I?”

Callum shrugged, watching the man refit his hood. From behind him he pulled the staff off his back. Callum must have been losing his touch because he hadn’t even noticed it until now, even though he knew the man was a mage from the ice markings on the ground.

Plus – he was from Tevinter.

 _Fleeing_ Tevinter, he reminded himself.

_Whatever for?_

“You don’t have to leave,” he found himself saying though he wasn’t sure why. Emry’s gaze shot toward him, wide with surprise. “We have food if you’re hungry. Not much, but it’s something. You look tired.”

This was true, at least – the mage appeared tired and… _traumatized_ , in a way.

It was a look Callum knew quite well. Could remember seeing in a mirror.

Maybe that was why he spoke. Maybe that was why he offered.

“That is very generous of you, but I think I will be on my way,” said the stranger.

Callum shrugged.

The man watched him a beat longer, then turned and took his leave.

Emry, on the other hand, kept staring at Callum. “What was that about?”

“I don’t know. He looked tired. I was being nice. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me to do?”

“Be nice to _me_ , not to random strangers who attempt to turn your best friend into an icicle.”

Callum waved a hand dismissively. “You’re being dramatic. You were barely frozen.”

“I’m freezing. And if I recall correctly, you promised to take first watch. I’m going to sleep.”

“Sleep away.”

Emry huffed and settled on the ground beneath a tree, keeping the sun out of his eyes.

Summer in the north was hot and humid. He wasn’t particularly fond of the heat. He preferred the chill of the south, the Free Marches, _home_.

Not that he would ever admit it to anyone.

He sat next to his friend and pulled out a roll of parchment and his trusty feathered pen.

On the mostly bare paper he added more to what he knew which wasn’t much. He didn’t have a lot to go on except a faded memory of a traumatized ten-year-old.

_Tall, fair hair, deep voice. Stocky build. Mage. Blood mage, summoned shadows called ‘shades’. Possibly living in Tevinter._

But at least it was something.

All he needed was a start.


	3. Southern Tang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm... the more I write this, the less certain I become :P Oh well. I know this story's probably not the best so far but I promise my writing of it will get better just as soon as I get past the beginning xD Beginnings are always really hard for me for some reason... I'm terrible at them. Anyway, so please bear with me for the time being :) And comments are appreciated!! Any feedback is :) It makes me want to update.
> 
> Oh - and this is my first ever attempt at Dorian's POV. Let me know what you think?

Chapter Two: Southern Tang

 

_What am I doing._

Not for the first time, the thought crossed Dorian’s mind. Ever since he left Tevinter he’d been questioning his every move. What was he doing out here, in southern Thedas? Did he really think it would be better than in the north? Than in Tevinter? All he really knew was he didn’t particularly have a choice.

If he stayed, if he allowed his father to go through with that _ritual_ … then he would die. It didn’t matter if he lived through the procedure, the Dorian he knew would cease to exist, and that seemed a fate worse than death. To be the same, and yet be so incredibly different.

And so he fled. He ran while he could, after he found out. He ran and he didn’t look back. Yes, he stumbled along the way, messed up a few times, but he ran and didn’t look back. He didn’t regret leaving Tevinter, not if it meant getting away from that _ritual_.

He did, however, regret leaving so abruptly. He had little money, only taking what he could manage from his home before he fled. This wouldn’t last him more than a week. He would be out of money and left in the cold come winter, and southern winters were said to be rather unforgiving.

All he had left was his birthright.

A medallion passed down through his family, speaking of his lineage. His family wore this birthright with pride, for theirs was an old line. And yet it meant very little to him now. What use was his family and his family’s legacy if it left his father willing to turn to blood magic, of all things, to change him? His father, Halward Pavus, who said blood magic was for those with a weak mind… and he was willing to use blood magic against his own son.

Even if it killed him.

Even if it worked and changed him.

The very thought was nauseating.

The market here was small, but if he went any longer without money he would regret it. He already needed food and supplies before he left again.

Being in a market in southern Thedas was very different than life back in Tevinter. Dorian wasn’t sure what to do with his staff as mages weren’t allowed to roam freely here. They were supposed to be with a Templar, or in a Circle. Back home, the thought of mages not ruling was simple fiction, a lie of ‘what if’, but here it was all very real.

And without his family there to back him, he could very easily wind up in trouble.

For the first time in his life, Dorian was well and truly on his own. No family, no money, no lineage. Just himself, and his staff, which at this point could probably do more harm than good.

He could do magic without his staff, but it was so much easier with a focus, which his staff provided. Staffs were made for mages. But if he wanted to survive in the market for now, he needed to ditch his staff.

He left it near a tree, covered in the shrubbery surrounding it, and made his way into town.

A local merchant was all too happy to buy his birthright from him, even though it probably would sell for very little. Ponchard didn’t seem to mind, though; he happily accepted the birthright and gave him a decent bit of money, which should last until he found somewhere to stay, at least. It was a start, and that was all he could ask for at this point.

As he was turning to leave town, he found a familiar figure standing outside, waiting for someone. Before he knew it a small smile was spreading across his face as he stepped toward the figure.

“We simply _must_ stop meeting like this,” he said, and smirked when his voice left the man spinning in place.

Those copper green eyes from before looked him over before a smile slid across the stranger’s face. “Are you stalking me?”

“I would be sure to make you notice me more if I were intentionally stalking you,” Dorian said, shaking his head, still under that mage’s cowl which helped hide his face. “As it is, at this point I believe introductions are long overdue.”

“I agree,” the stranger said, smirking. “The name’s Callum.”

 _Callum_.

The name seemed to fit well enough. No other name was forthcoming.

“Dorian, if we are to be on a first name basis only.”

“Dorian,” the stranger, Callum, repeated, and Dorian decided it flowed nicely off his tongue.

“Where’s your elven friend?” he asked, looking around.

“Emry’s getting supplies,” Callum replied.

“Ah. Not staying here, then?” He wasn’t sure why he bothered to ask, but the question slipped off his tongue nevertheless.

“No – still have a while to go.”

“Where are you going?”

Callum shrugged.

“I’m trying to get to Fereldan,” Dorian said conversationally. “The south is much calmer, you see.”

_Is it? Calmer? Or just lacking in parents wishing to force blood magic onto you?_

Sometimes his mind could be a bit of a downer.

“Fereldan seems to be popular,” Callum said. “Aren’t you worried about Templars, though?”

Dorian shook his head. “At this point, Templars are the _least_ of my worries.”

This was mostly true. If Dorian was careful, and lucky, he wouldn’t have to worry about the Templars for a while, and hopefully by then he had somewhere to stay, and could focus on not getting caught. If they did capture him, they could take him to a Circle – a _southern_ Circle, which was so much different than the ones back home – or they could take him back to Tevinter.

Neither option sounded appealing.

“I’m actually going back to Tevinter,” Callum was saying when Dorian tuned back into the conversation.

“Why on Thedas would you go back there?” Dorian asked, brows furrowing.

“Why are you so keen on leaving?” Callum retorted, frowning. “I would think Minrathos would be the best place for mages, wouldn’t you agree? No Templars or anything.”

“You don’t understand what it’s like in Tevinter,” Dorian said, faltering momentarily. He could hear it in his own voice, how it cracked ever-so-slightly. He took in a break, composing himself like a good scion of House Pavus should.

“What is it like in Tevinter, then?” Callum asked.

“As you are not a mage, I wouldn’t think you’d be keen on finding out,” Dorian said.

Callum shrugged slowly, rolling his shoulder through his light armor. “I’m curious.”

“Tevinter is harsh. Blood magic behind the scenes, so to speak. Everyone denies it, of course. And they all make sure to sound convincingly offended at the notion, as well.” He had never talked about his homeland to an outsider before. It was… oddly freeing.

“So there _is_ blood magic at work.”

“Yes, unfortunately.” Dorian’s gaze skittered away briefly. Speaking of blood magic made him think about that dreadful ritual all over again, and how the risk of killing him seemed to be okay with his father. How could the man even contemplate such a thing? To do to his own son? “Good luck in Tevinter,” he found himself saying, attempting to shake the thoughts away.

Callum was silent for a long moment, before he sighed and spoke again.

“If you’ve a mind for an agreement, I have an offer.”

Dorian’s gaze snapped back toward Callum, brows raising in surprise. “Ask.”

“I’m only going back to Tevinter to investigate blood magic, and the Fade, and shades. You seem to know a great deal about it all.”

“I did my fair share of studying.”

Callum smiled. “Then, if you are willing, you could join us for a time. We can take you across Fereldan, and you can tell me what you know.”

“Why is it that you seek this information?”

“I just need to know about it, that’s all. Call it a personal hobby.”

“You are not a mage, nor a Templar; what use is it to you?”

It seemed a fair question, Dorian thought. The Fade, shades, and blood magic; those all related to mages, mostly, or Templars attempting to control mages. It had very little to do with non-mages like Callum. What use could any of this be for him?

Callum’s smile quickly dispersed, replaced with this dull, standoffish look, which was certainly not what Dorian had been intending to cause.

“I just need to know,” Callum said. “Are you going to accept my offer or do you wish to be a lone mage traveling across southern Thedas?”

Dorian eyed him for a moment, but in truth he saw little choice in the matter. If he stayed on his own, even with his new money, it wouldn’t be long before he was caught. Caught by bandits or Templars or who even knew what else. He knew very little about traveling southern Thedas. He could use the help.

“Very well,” he said with a nod. “I accept your offer, Callum.”

Callum grinned. “Excellent. Glad to have you on board.”

“What _do_ you do, exactly?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

“If I am to be traveling with you, I feel I should know.”

“As it is of no importance, I don’t see why you should know. It has nothing to do with you. If it becomes relevant, then I will tell you.”

This man could be so secretive. Dorian wanted to argue, and ask more questions because if they were going to be traveling together, he felt he had a right to know, but at that moment the elf from before decided to show up, scowling at him.

“Is he following us? When did we get so bad at covering our tracks?” the elf demanded.

Callum laughed. “It’s not like that, Em. Emry, this is Dorian. Dorian, my friend, Emry. Play nice or one of you will find a dagger in your back.”

“What?” Dorian asked, brows furrowed. This was certainly not helping him trust them.

Emry rolled his eyes. “That threat gets old, Cal. What’s he doing here?”

“My silly little elf, Dorian is going to be joining us for a bit.”

“ _What_?”

“And because he’s being such a nice guy, we don’t need to go back to Tevinter. He can answer my questions.”

That seemed to relax Emry, if ever-so-slightly. Dorian assumed Emry wasn’t fond of Tevinter. In actuality, it seemed no one was fond of Tevinter, except those who lived there. And even Dorian wasn’t very happy with his country. As it was, though, Emry was also an elf, and there were a lot of elven slaves, come to think of it. Perhaps that was why he disliked it.

Callum hefted his bag. “Shall we leave, then?”

Emry sighed heavily, scrubbing a gloved hand across his face. “Yes. Let’s get out of here. Are you in, Vint?”

Dorian scowled at the slur. “I do not appreciate the title as I have done nothing to you. But yes, I’m ready when you are.”

“Great,” Callum said before an argument could break out, stepping between the two with a grin, “then let’s go.”

xXx

Traveling with Callum and Emry proved to be rather stressful. Emry didn’t appreciate Dorian’s presence, but Dorian didn’t appreciate his attitude, either. Callum was a multitude of movements and mood swings. One minute he was joking around, the next he was quiet.

He could be oh-so-quiet.

This didn’t resonate with Dorian more than when they were attacked by bandits, attempting to take what they could from three weary travelers. It was a good plan, in theory, but these bandits obviously didn’t know what they were getting themselves into.

One minute Callum was there, the next he was one with the shadows, invisible to the naked eye. Dorian could probably find him using his magic, but in that moment he was mystified. In Tevinter no one fought like this, disappearing from view without the use of magic. He threw some kind of concoction at the ground at his feet and then he went invisible to the naked eye. Meanwhile, Emry sought refuge further away, and then took aim with his bow, easily loosing arrows at the bandits from afar.

Meanwhile Dorian grasped his staff and used a mind blast spell to push everyone away from him. In the chaos that followed he froze a man with an ice spell – Winter’s Grasp, so nicely named – and then used his staff blade, located at the bottom of his staff, to stab through the vulnerable flesh of another bandit’s stomach, cutting through the tunic used as armor, which wasn’t very helpful.

He didn’t realize someone was approaching from behind until he spun too late and saw a dagger flash before his eyes. The bandit never got the chance to land a blow, though, as in that moment Callum appeared behind him, easily sinking his twin daggers into the bandit’s vulnerable back. The bandit released a choked gasp and then fell to his knees as Callum yanked the daggers free, tossing Dorian a quick look, eyes narrowed.

“Alright?” came the quick question.

Dorian could only nod. He was fine, save for his pride, he presumed. It was a rookie mistake to leave his back undefended, to not notice someone approaching from behind. In Tevinter he would have been laughed at, ridiculed, but here, Callum merely gave him a cursory glance before he turned toward the next opponent, the last remaining bandit. All the others lay dead at their feet, either from Dorian’s magic and staff blade, Callum’s daggers, or Emry’s arrows. There was little room to escape for this lone bandit.

Callum stepped toward the remaining foe. The bandit shrank away.

“Mercy,” the bandit whispered.

“Oh – is that what you were going for this whole time? Mercy? Trying to kill us is merciful?” Callum scoffed, lifting a single dagger to point at the bandit. “Tell me – why should I let you live?”

“It was not my idea to attack, Serah,” the man said. “I was merely following orders.”

Callum’s brows furrowed. “Orders? Whose orders?”

It was something Dorian wished to have answered as well, so he stepped a little closer to the two. In that moment an arrow went through the back of the bandit’s neck, poking out the front with a spurt of blood that covered Callum’s light armor.

“Dammit, Emry!”

“Wasn’t me,” Emry said from behind Dorian, causing Dorian to turn to find him with his bow shouldered, but he was reaching for it again, looking around.

“You,” Callum hissed suddenly, causing Dorian to turn to find him lunging at a fallen figure on the ground. Said bandit was lowering the bow he held with a trembling grip, but his aim had been steady and true. A true archer. “Why did you do that?”

“He mustn’t say…” said the dying bandit, head tilting back, mouth covered in blood. Dorian noticed it as the guy he’d stabbed with his staff blade.

“Mustn’t say what?” Callum asked, kneeling next to the guy.

“Musn’t… s-ay…”

And with that the bandit’s head fell back and his eyes closed, his hands dropping limply at his sides.

He was dead.

And in that moment Dorian realized – _I just killed a man._

In Tevinter, he’d been involved in duels and the like, of course, and sometimes those got out of hand, but he’d never actually killed anyone before. He’d been more focused on his studies, studies of magic and time amulets and learning all he could about life outside of Tevinter so that he might one day flee. He just never thought it would be so soon. And now – a week after leaving, he’d killed a man.

More than one.

His clothes – and robe – were covered in blood. Blood of those he killed.

He wasn’t sure what to think about that.

Callum seemed perfectly at ease with the fact he’d killed someone. With the fact there was so much death around him. Even Emry didn’t seem to mind.

Perhaps in southern Thedas this was what the world was truly like.

Not that it was much better in Tevinter – there was still gratuitous murder and loss of life, it was just usually covered up. And Dorian had never been a part of it before.

Now…

Callum glanced at him and he realized the rogue had been attempting to speak to him.

“Yes, sorry, you were saying?” he asked.

Callum quirked a brow equally as dark – or light, as the case may be – as his sandy-colored, tussled hair. “I was asking if you were okay.”

“Oh. Yes, that. I’m fine, don’t worry about me.”

“Vint, can’t even handle a little blood.”

“Be easy on him, Em,” Callum said, turning away from Dorian to pick up their forgotten things, which they’d dropped when the attack started. “Look at the big picture. Someone sent these people to attack us. The question is: Why? And who were they after?”

“I haven’t pissed anyone off lately,” Emry said, shaking his head. “At least not that I know of. What about you, Cal?”

Callum went quiet, and then shook his head slowly, looking away. “We should keep moving.”

He was obviously hiding something.

And Dorian would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious.

xXx

“This is our stop,” Callum said suddenly, three nights later, as they sat around the small fire. Emry had fallen asleep a few minutes ago. Dorian looked up from where he lay in his own sleeping area, glancing at Callum as the fire cast a warm, orange glow across his face, flickering with the shadows.

“Our stop?”

“For me and Emry.”

“Oh. Yes, that.”

He knew they would part eventually. This was only a short truce.

A short agreement. They’d gotten him to Fereldan, and that was all he’d asked of them. It made sense for them to part ways.

“I’ve been thinking,” Callum said slowly.

“Do not hurt yourself.”

Callum grinned. “Why, Dorian, is that a joke I hear?”

“You think I am not humorous?”

“You seem quiet through the day, that’s all.”

“Your elven friend does not seem to like me.”

“He’s… odd. Anyway, I’ve been thinking, and I have an idea, if you want to hear it.”

Dorian shrugged, sitting up. “Tell me this plan of yours.”

Callum smiled again. He had a rather nice smile. In Tevinter, such a winning smile would have gotten him far if he’d also been magically inclined. He had that sort of boyish face people trusted. It certainly seemed to be working on Dorian at the moment, but that could have been the fatigue from traveling so much in the past two weeks.

“Well, I have a lot of questions, and asking them with Emry around is… Well, when he’s around I have to focus on the job.”

“And what is that, exactly?”

Callum shrugged. “As I’m sure you’ve guessed…”

“Are you… a hit man?”

Callum laughed quietly. “Something like that. Assassin. Hit man. Hired blade. Whatever you wish to call it, I am that. However, I have been looking for some time off, and I’ve discussed this briefly with Emry. I was thinking – after we drop Emry off, we could continue on our own, and I could ask my questions. You could teach me of the Fade and blood magic, and I could help you get settled into Fereldan culture.”

“What do you know of Fereldan?”

“I am from here, originally.”

“From where, exactly?”

Callum’s smile and easy demeanor vanished so suddenly Dorian could only blink in response to the sudden icy expression. “Look – are you going to agree or not?”

“I was merely asking.”

“Yeah, well, answer my question.”

Dorian thought it over briefly. Callum was an assassin, a killer by trade. He was comfortable around death, and had no trouble taking someone’s life. He also had never raised a hand toward Dorian and had not let harm befall him or Emry. If he was going to attack Dorian, he would have done so by now, and traveling alone as a mage in southern Thedas didn’t seem like the best idea, he would admit.

“Very well,” he said finally. “I accept your offer. I will travel with you until you deem our partnership dissolved.”

“Such language,” Callum said, a hint of smile returning to his voice and features. “Does everyone talk like that where you’re from?”

“I was raised to be cultured and civilized, not like those here.”

“Are you saying we’re uncivilized?”

Dorian hesitated. “That does sound bad, doesn’t it? I didn’t mean it like that.”

Callum waved a hand. “It’s fine. I don’t mind, just don’t let Emry hear you talk like that. Anyway – you better get some sleep. I’ll wake you in a few hours so you can take over.”

Dorian blinked slowly. “You’re… going to have me take watch?”

The whole time they’d traveled together thus far, only Emry and Callum had kept watch. He assumed it was because Emry didn’t quite trust Dorian yet so he didn’t trust him to have their backs… even though that left Dorian having to constantly trust them to have his back.

Now, though…

“Well, if it’s just going to be the two of us for a while, I need to trust you, don’t I?”

He had a point.

Dorian smiled. “In that case, I will take your advice and sleep.”

He lay back down, unable to quite keep the smile off his face, and closed his eyes.


	4. Kirkwall's Chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm... again, not sure about this, but meh, whatever. Again, bear with me, I promise it will get better xD I am just terrible at beginnings so I know it probably seems rushed. Maybe later I can go back and fix it >.> We'll see. But it's for fun, so, meh. Anywho - comment? :D
> 
> Oh, and, I don't know about the whole mercenary group thingy as I don't know much about those and what I've tried to look up is meh. I'm also not sure of the timeline? Like I tried to see when Dragon Age: Inquisition took place relative to Dragon Age 2 but so far haven't found any answers? I'm going to say a few months to a year. If that's wrong - sorry.

Chapter Three: Kirkwall's Chaos

 

Dorian spent the next few weeks traveling alone with Callum. Emry promised to not accept any jobs until Callum came back in a month, so that gave them a week to return to the assassin’s guild they worked for. Callum had yet to speak of the name of such an organization and let slip very little about what he did, but Dorian already knew what he needed to know: Callum was an assassin and for some reason, was traveling with a mage.

A mage from Tevinter, of all things.

In time, they found a small hut outside a small town. After Callum scouted the place he deemed it fit for upkeep, and the two began working on it. Dorian took the time to check over every minute detail, as this would be his new home. A small hut south of the Hinterlands, where the most he would have to worry about was the wildlife, and if he took precautions, he would be fine, according to Callum.

“As long as you don’t do anything too mage-y,” Callum told him as they finished fixing the place. It wasn’t in total disrepair when they first got it, Callum helping him obtain it legally, with money Dorian didn’t have. Even after selling his birthright, he was mostly out of coin. He doubted he knew what he would do if it weren’t for the rogue assassin helping him every step of the way.

Life outside of Tevinter was proving to be more difficult than he thought. All his life he’d had everything he wanted, but there was always a catch. He could have the best living conditions, books he could study for hours, a mentor he could connect with on a more personal, intellectual level, but in return his parents always wanted something from him.

They wished for him to marry a young woman specifically chosen for him for her bloodline. They would have fine heirs and he would take his father’s place in the Magisterium, living in luxurious despair, hating each other. He saw how his parents behaved toward one another; there was no love there, merely duty. They were given to each other to produce an heir – _him_. And what a fine heir he turned out to be! He hit every disappointment they could have thought of. He was nothing but an embarrassment to them, so it was better while he was away.

They gave him ‘everything’, or so they said, and he couldn’t do this one little thing for them. Even though this ‘one little thing’ meant screaming on the inside for the rest of his life, and it was something he just simply couldn’t do.

He had everything, but it always came with a price. A hefty price he couldn’t pay.

A part of him wondered what the price was for Callum’s assistance. Callum spent a lot of time and money helping him find a new place to stay. Somehow, listening to Dorian ramble about the Fade didn’t seem like adequate payment, and yet it was all Callum asked for in return.

They spent days speaking about the Fade. Callum had Dorian quiz him on everything ranging from demons to spirits to abominations. Why this was so important to him, Dorian didn’t know, but he had to admit he rather enjoyed their lengthy conversations on such things. No one had ever taken such an interest in what Dorian had to say. When Dorian spoke – about anything – Callum always listened with such intent, leaning forward, brows furrowed, eyes focused solely on Dorian, like he was the only other person who existed in Thedas.

It was – _intriguing_.

Dorian never quite got along with his peers in Tevinter. He was always the outcast, the pariah, so he was used to be treated as such. People dismissed him, rolled their eyes and turned away in disgust as he spoke of his views on Tevinter and their politics, on how things should change. They turned away distastefully when he refused to marry as his parents wished. They turned away when he said he would never find the right woman, because that wasn’t what he was interested in.

They turned away.

They never leaned forward.

Not like Callum.

Dorian couldn’t remember the last time he truly had a friend. Felix was a good friend, his mentor’s son, but he hadn’t seen Felix in a long time. Months, even before he left Tevinter.

He wasn’t sure if he and Callum were friends, exactly, but there was a certain kinship here he hadn’t noticed before, with anyone else. Who else would help someone build a new life for themselves, and ask for only basic information on the Fade in return?

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Callum’s voice was quiet in the stillness of the main room, where Dorian sat reading a book by candlelight. Even though he didn’t bring much with him, he did bring this book with him, the last book he was studying before he and Alexius, his mentor, parted ways.

“Oh?”

He wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that statement.

“Good luck,” he wound up saying, though he found his heart wasn’t really in it. The thought of being in this small hut, on the edge of society, _alone_ , suddenly seemed rather daunting.

“Have to get back to work,” Callum said, sitting next to him in a small wooden chair. “Emry’s never going to let me hear the end of it. Anyway – thanks for the information. You’ve been helpful.”

“I told you the basics of shades and the Fade,” Dorian said, frowning. “How is that helpful?”

Callum shook his head, wearing that small half-smile Dorian had come to associate with him. “It was more helpful than you know. Thank you. I appreciate it.”

He seemed so sincere, too. Dorian smiled. “Then you’re welcome, I suppose. Although, I believe it is I who should be thanking you.”

Callum waved that hand dismissively, like he did often. “Don’t thank me, just helping you out. You don’t really have anyone else, do you?”

Dorian’s smile faltered.

Callum shook his head. “Don’t answer that. It was insensitive of me. I apologize.”

“It’s fine,” Dorian said. “No, I don’t really have anyone else. It’s just… me.”

“What about your family?”

“We didn’t see eye-to-eye. So I left.”

“You ran away from home?”

“Something like that, yes.”

“I’m sure you have your reasons.”

Dorian released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Thankfully, Callum seemed to understand, and he didn’t need to get into the details about _why_ he left as he did, in such a rush and with very little to his name.

“I’ll be sure to check on you when I come back through here again,” Callum told him, breaking him from his thoughts.

“I could always go with you.”

He wasn’t sure where that particular offer came from, but once he said it, he found he meant it.

He didn’t hate traveling with Callum. Plus, being here alone… surrounded by wildlife and potential Templars…

Callum scoffed. “No offense, Dori, but you’re not really the mercenary type.”

“Dori?”

The name rolled off his tongue strangely, but he found he liked it far better when it came from someone else’s mouth. He shook that particular thought away, because it was rather absurd. He barely knew Callum, even though they’d been traveling together for over a month.

“I like nicknames,” Callum said, smirking. “Sorry. You’ll get used to it.”

_You’ll get used to it._

Getting used to it meant being around each other more, and Dorian found he didn’t hate that idea. In fact it rather intrigued him, so he smiled.

“I see. In that case… I guess no offense taken.”

He really wasn’t the mercenary type. Killing people for money wasn’t his thing, really.

“I must advise against publicly using magic. If you have to in private, that’s fine, just make sure no one is around to notice. Wards are fine, I suppose. Just be careful.”

“I will be fine, thank you.”

“It’s different here than it is in Tevinter. Tensions between mages and Templars are high. There’s rumor a war might break out.”

Dorian winced. “Well, then I picked the perfect time to run away from home, didn’t I?”

“Just be careful.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say you were worried about me,” he said, smirking at the rogue.

“I’m serious.”

Dorian’s smile fled. “I see. In that case, you have my word – I will be careful, if you do the same. I don’t want to hear from our elven friend that you perished in a tragic accident.”

Callum smirked. “Me? Perish? Perish the thought.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, jest if you must. Do I have your word?”

“If I didn’t know better,” Callum said, grinning, echoing Dorian’s earlier words. “But yes, Dori, you have my word. And I’ll try to write to you at the very least. Probably check in when I can.”

Dorian nodded, relaxing back into his seat.

xXx

“About time I saw your ugly face again.”

Callum smirked at the familiar voice, turning to face Emry. “If I’m so ugly why are you thinking of my face?”

Emry rolled his sunset eyes. “How’s the Vint?”

“ _Dorian_ is fine,” Callum said in response, shaking his head. “He’s not so bad, you know.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure he’s quite amazing when you’re alone with him.”

Callum frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Emry shook his head. “Nothing, Cal, nothing. Are you ready? We have a ways to go.”

“Again with the faraway jobs? Didn’t I tell you to stop accepting those?”

He complained a lot about traveling, but it wasn’t the worst thing ever, really. He was used to the long walks by now so they didn’t really bother him, but most of the time he would rather just get a job done and be then be done with it. Instead it took upwards of a week to get to their destination half the time, and then they did a little scouting and recon on their target, and went from there. Then the journey back.

It was exhausting.

“We’re supposed to go to Kirkwall,” Emry said. “A mage uprising. We aren’t killing anyone; just getting information.”

“Mage uprising?” Callum echoed with a frown. “Why do I not like the sound of that?”

“What part of ‘uprising’ sounds good?” Emry retorted, shrugging. “We have to be there in a week.”

“I literally _just_ got back.”

“Take a nap, but then we’re leaving. It’s not my fault you had to stay with your boy toy for weeks.”

Irritation blazed behind Callum’s eyes. Sometimes Emry’s remarks could get a little out of hand. “He is not my _boy toy_ , we’re merely friends. He was giving me information, and I was helping him settle into his new place.”

Emry snorted. “Whatever you want to call it, Cal. Anyway – go nap, because we need to be leaving soon.”

Callum sighed heavily and nodded, following Emry into the building.

Callum had been working for his particular group for a long time now. He joined at the young age of thirteen when he had nowhere else to go and he’d exhausted all his other options. With no money and little experience doing much of anything, he turned to the mercenaries, who were recruiting at the time, a newly formed group. They trained him and gave him a place to stay, and he met Emry.

This had been his life for a long time now.

He honestly couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

xXx

_Kirkwall is chaos._

By the time they arrived in Kirkwall, it was utter chaos. The chantry had been destroyed by an apostate seeking to start a war. One didn’t grow up in Thedas without hearing of the mage-templar rivalry and everything, but this was going a little far. A part of Callum could see why someone would deem such an act necessary. Another part of him was appalled at the gratuitous death surrounding him. Just a lot of needless death.

The mage in question, Anders, was a healer in Kirkwall. He was known for helping the sick and those in need, and especially for helping mages escape Kirkwall’s Circle, where the mages were to be kept. Anders was also apparently a Grey Warden. Callum would admit he didn’t know much about Grey Wardens; they were a rather secretive bunch and he’d only ever met one Grey Warden in his life, and the guy wasn’t very keen on conversation, especially about the Wardens.

In the aftermath of Anders’ attempt to start a war – which was rather successful, it seemed – the city was in chaos. Mages fled in terror while the Templars attempted to retaliate. Orsino was supposed to be in charge of the mages but rumors said he turned into an abomination. Callum wasn’t a Templar, but he knew what that meant. He grew up around Templars and members of the chantry, as that was what most of his siblings did when they were old enough.

There was no stopping what started here.

He was happy he wasn’t a mage, in that moment.

Except then his mind fled to Dorian, alone in the Hinterlands, unaware of what had happened in Kirkwall. Unaware of the mage uprising which would soon sweep across the entirety of Thedas. Unaware of the fact Templars would be more ruthless than ever before.

As Dorian’s friend – at least, he thought they were friends, but he would admit he’d never been very good with friends except for Emry – he felt the need to warn him.

First thing’s first, though.

He needed to gather the information they’d been sent to retrieve, and then he could focus on warning Dorian.

xXx

Dorian spent most of his time tidying up his new living space, though back home he’d always hated the upkeep. Dusting grew tiresome. They had slaves for that. He’d never personally had slaves, but his family did, and they were always treated well. Honestly he never gave much thought to slavery until he left and began traveling with Emry and Callum, Emry being an ex-slave. Learning that tidbit of information left him rethinking his entire life, and the lies he’d told himself about slavery.

Alone in this little hut gave him a lot of time to think, though.

He debated returning to Tevinter. Perhaps he’d misread everything. Maybe his parents didn’t wish for him to undergo such a ritual. Except he knew what he heard, he knew what he saw. With certainty. They wanted to do a blood ritual to change his mind, make him more compliant with their demands and wishes.

Leaving was the right thing to do.

Staying away, though…

For how long could he remain here?

Alone in a hut at the edge of society was no way to live, he was certain. Then again, what life was there for him in Tevinter? Anywhere?

He was as alone in Minrathos as he was here.

Three weeks after Callum left, there was a knock at Dorian’s door.

For a moment he almost didn’t recognize the sound. Then he stumbled to his feet, nearly tripped over his chair, and made his way for the door, fingers curling behind his staff which he held behind his back, just in case. He opened the door slightly, just enough to see who stood outside, and then he found himself smiling, opening the door further.

“Callum,” he said in greeting.

Callum didn’t smile. “It’s not safe here,” he said.

“Beg pardon?”

“There’s been a mage uprising,”

“A mage…?”

“Uprising,” Callum finished, pushing past Dorian into the small hut. Dorian closed the door behind him and turned to face him as Callum walked into the center of the main room. “Started in Kirkwall. It’s caused full out war between Templars and mages.”

“I… see,” Dorian said slowly, though in truth he didn’t fully understand. Wasn’t there already a war between the two? Wasn’t actually official now? Where did that leave him?

“It’s no longer safe here.”

“So you’ve said, but I don’t see what you want me to do.”

“I… don’t know.”

It was the first time he’d actually seen Callum falter. A part of him wanted to laugh even though it made him a bit uneasy. Callum, thus far, had always seemed like he was in control.

“I appreciate the warning, but I don’t know what you would have me do,” Dorian said, frowning. “I’m being as careful as I can be as it is.”

“I know, I just… I don’t know. Sorry. I just thought I’d warn you.”

“I appreciate the concern.”

It was the most concern he could remember someone having for him. His parents, when he was little, worried about him and fussed over him all the time, for every little thing. But as an adult, they seemed to almost dislike him. They wanted him for their legacy and their own needs, it seemed, and yet what he wanted never entered the picture. They didn’t care about _him_ as a person, only what they wanted him to be, what he was supposed to be to them.

It was just how things were in Tevinter.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t yearn for something different.

Because he did.

And this… this felt like something different.

And he actually kind of liked it.

“Things are going to get very bad very fast,” Callum sighed, scrubbing a gloved hand across his face, closing his eyes. He looked exhausted.

“Sit and relax,” Dorian commanded, pressing down lightly on Callum’s shoulder. The rogue sat without argument, and Dorian exited the room to be begin working on dinner. It was late evening, and he’d been meaning to start it anyway.

“Do you have enough food?” Callum asked when he returned to the main room, dinner cooking with what little things he had.

“For the moment, yes,” Dorian replied.

“Have you gone into town yet?”

“Once, yes. It went fine.”

Callum nodded. “That’s good, I guess. I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

“I put you in this place and now it’s dangerous. That’s kind of my fault.”

“I don’t see how it is. You helped me when I needed it. You couldn’t have known what was happening in Kirkwall.”

“Still… it’s even more of a risk to be here now. Have you thought of returning home?”

Dorian looked away, shaking his head. “That is… not an option at this time.”

“What happened? It can’t be worse than a war.”

“It is… difficult to say at this point. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be – we all have things we can’t talk about just yet.”

Dorian nodded, thankful Callum seemed to understand, and the issue of returning to Tevinter was dropped.

“Do you have any friends or relatives outside of Tevinter, then?”

“I have a long family lineage, and many branches to that line,” Dorian said with a shrug. “As for someone I could stay with, if that is what you mean, then no, I do not.”

“I see. Then I supposed this is your only option, yes?”

“Looks like it,” Dorian mumbled, sighing heavily.

“Don’t worry – I’m sure you’ll be fine, as long as you’re careful. It will take them a while to get this far with their war. Things should be okay for a little while, and we’ll think on options in the meantime.”

“We?” Dorian asked, quirking a brow.

“What? You think I’m just going to leave you out here all on your lonesome?”

“Tell me – what does it matter to you?”

“Beg pardon?”

Dorian sat across from Callum in the free chair. “You are not a mage, nor a Templar. Why does this concern you?”

“Well – we’re friends, aren’t we?”

“I don’t know, are we?”

Callum frowned. “Do you _want_ to be friends?”

Dorian hesitated. It had been a long time since he truly had a friend, outside of Felix. “Yes, I think I would like that.”

Callum offered a faint smile. “Then we’re friends. And friends worry about each other, especially when they get the other into this situation.”

“You didn’t get me into anything, you only helped me when I needed it.”

The sandy-haired rogue shrugged. “Either way… things just got a lot more complicated. In the meantime, be careful, and I’ll see what I can do from my end. I’ll try to let you know if there are any Templars in the area.”

Dorian nodded, even as he wondered if this war was truly that important. Well, of course it was, all wars were important, and this one did involve mages, of which he was one. However, this happened elsewhere; who was to say it would spread to the Hinterlands?

Callum smiled.

“Anyway – that food smells delicious and I’m starving. When will it be ready?”


	5. Saving Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, this chapter is longer than the others so far, at over 5k. Yay :D Also there's some action - kind of. Meh, anyway. I'm going to mess with the games' timelines and stuff so we will see how it goes :) Comment? :D

Chapter Four: Saving Friends

 

“I will not ask you again,” Callum said, dagger held to the man’s throat, eyes narrowed. “Tell me of the man with the flaxen hair.”

After months of hunting down rumors, anything, about a blood mage with blonde hair who might have been in Ostwick a decade ago, Callum finally had a lead. It wasn’t much, of course; merely speculation. Someone thought they knew someone who might know something. It was all very vague, but after a decade of searching, he desperately needed answers.

“I don’t know a blonde bastard,” the man said, shaking his head from where he sat in a plain wooden chair. Callum should have bound his hands; he could see the man’s eyes darting about fervently.

Except Callum didn’t do that to people. Only if it was needed for a job; he’d never done something like this on his own, for his own reasons. He didn’t want the man too afraid to talk, but frightened just enough.

“I’m sure his parents were together. Just tell me – why protect him? I just need a name. A location. _Anything_.”

“What is it to you?” the man asked.

“I just want to know. According to lovely young woman, you helped a blood mage with blonde hair gain access to the city of Ostwick a decade ago. Tell me about that.”

“I didn’t.”

“Do not lie; it is unbecoming, and you are trying my patience.” He pressed his dagger a little more firmly against the man’s throat. The man swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“I don’t know his name. I just needed the money – he paid me a great deal to get him access to the city.”

“And you did not ask why he wanted access?”

“I was desperate. My wife, she was heavy with child – I needed the money.”

Callum sighed heavily. There was always an excuse. It didn’t matter that this blood mage was _clearly_ a mage and didn’t bother to hide this fact when he sought a way into Ostwick. Though he went by nightfall, it was still plain to see for some people, and those people Callum attempted to track down. That search ended with this man.

Alfred seemed a decent enough fellow, just trying to look out for his family. He couldn’t have known the mage would then go on to murder Callum’s family. On some level Callum understood this.

On another level…

_This man is responsible for my family’s death._

Had this man done his job and turned the mage into the nearest Templars instead of helping him into Ostwick – and the Trevelyan household – then Callum’s family would still be alive. He would still have a normal life, and not that of a rogue. _Callum_ wouldn’t even exist as there would be no need for him.

But it was all wishful thinking, thinking of a time when this man might have handed the mage over to the Templars like he should have. He didn’t; he helped him into the city for money.

Well, that was something else he could add to his short list of things he knew about this mage.

He had money. Lots of it. Enough to buy a way into Ostwick unnoticed despite the fact he seemed to flaunt the fact he was a mage.

“Please – I don’t know who he is or where he went, I just helped him into Ostwick.”

“That man murdered an entire family.”

Alfred’s eyes grew wide. “He what?”

“You heard me – I didn’t stutter.” Callum leaned closer, glaring at the man, a breath away from him. “He killed an entire family. All because you let him into the city. Why did you not turn him into the Templars as you should have? The Templars exist for a reason.”

“Look – I was just trying to help my wife! The year had been hard for us and we barely had enough food! I needed the money. I’m sorry for that family and I am sorry that man did that, but it’s not my fault!”

“You let him into the city. How is that not your fault?”

“Please, I didn’t know!”

“That family’s blood is on your hands.”

“Callum – that is enough.”

Callum stiffened at the voice and spun, pulling his dagger away from the man’s throat as he turned to find Emry walking down the steps into the basement they were in. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” Emry said.

In that moment Callum’s legs were knocked out from under him. With a snarl he twisted and grabbed Alfred’s stumbling legs, dragging him down to the ground as well. A moment later the man was pinned beneath Callum’s smaller form; he knew how to manipulate his own body weight, after all.

“That was stupid of you,” he chided. “Don’t try it again. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Did you kidnap this man?” Emry asked, coming up behind him. Callum glanced over his shoulder, tossing his friend a scowl.

“No. We were merely having a friendly conversation.”

“Do you speak to all of your friends with daggers at their throats?”

“No, but I could start doing that if you like. I’ll make sure it’s extra sharp just for you,” Callum said to his elven friend.

Emry snorted. “I’ll pass, thanks. Let the man go. He doesn’t seem to know anything.”

“I wasn’t planning on hurting him.”

“But you might have?”

Callum sighed and climbed off the man, getting to his feet. “Go,” he said, turning away from Alfred. “Now, before I change my mind. And remember, there is blood on your hands.”

Alfred said not a word as he quickly scrambled to his feet and pushed past Emry, heading up the stairs and out of the basement. Callum turned to face the elf.

“Why are you here?”

“Just wanted to see what you were up to in a _basement_ of all things. Don’t worry; finding you wasn’t easy.”

“You always were the only one who could find me.”

“It’s a gift – I am forever to be tied to your sorry ass.”

“A gift, or a curse, then?”

“Maybe a little of both,” Emry said, shaking his head, dark bangs falling over his left eye. “What did you learn? Anything useful?”

“Not really, except that the mage I am searching for seems to have a lot of coin. Or, rather, he did a decade ago. Who knows if he even still lives now.”

That was the worst part of this long search, he thought. The mage he was searching for might already be dead. If so then this search was pointless. This search that took up so much of his life. This search that chased him no matter where he went.

Emry sighed, shaking his head. “Always the pessimist, Cal?”

“It’s the best philosophy,” Callum said with a shrug. “I’m either always right or pleasantly surprised.”

“Only you would think that was a good thing.”

“What can I say? I’m special.”

“Indeed. Come – we have a job, if you are done playing in the basement.”

Callum smirked. “Lead the way, Em.”

xXx

“You seem distracted.”

Dorian’s words and that velvety smooth voice broke Callum from his thoughts. He glanced up from the table in the tiny kitchen area of Dorian’s hut. There were only three true rooms in the place – the main room, a tiny kitchen area, and a corner with half a wall making a bedroom, if one could call it that. It wasn’t much, but it always felt nice to Callum. Warm, every time he came here. Peaceful. _Safe_.

Things were getting worse in Thedas every day. Every day the mage-templar war grew closer to the Hinterlands and he wasn’t sure how much longer this area would be safe. He wasn’t sure _anywhere_ was safe, in all honesty. Soon the war would consume everywhere, and then what would they do?

_If it’s not one thing, it’s another._

That seemed to be the way of life.

“Just thinking,” he said to the mage, shrugging. “Sorry I’m not pleasant company. I have a lot on my mind.”

“I can see that,” Dorian said with a small frown twisting along his lips. “Perhaps I can help, if you will tell me what troubles you. After all, I am told that is what friends are for.”

Callum smirked, listening to his own words thrown back at him. “Nothing important right now, I am just tired. It’s been a long few months.”

It had been roughly four months since the war broke out in Kirkwall. It was spreading slowly across southern Thedas. It certainly made his job harder, both as an assassin and as Dorian’s friend.

“Yes, I suppose it has,” Dorian said with a slow nod. “I take it things aren’t getting any better?”

“Not yet.”

“Oh.” Dorian went quiet for a moment, and then sighed. “I see. What are your plans?”

“For?”

“Well, you seem worried about something. I am merely curious what you plan to do about whatever troubles you.”

“Oh – I don’t know yet, but I’ll keep thinking on it.”

Dorian’s brown eyes softened into this light amber color. “You do know you can talk to me, yes? We are friends.”

“Yes, Dorian, I know I can talk to you,” Callum said with a smile. Dorian could always make him smile, it seemed, not matter what mood he was in, or where his thoughts went. “I appreciate the offer but this is something I must figure out on my own.”

“I understand.”

“Thank you. Anyway – how has life been for you these past few months?”

Dorian perked up a little. “Well, no one has run screaming at the sight of me, so I imagine that is a good sign.”

“Yes, it would seem so.”

“The hut is small and dingy, and at night I hear wolves nearby.”

“Oh,” Callum said slowly, frowning. If Dorian didn’t like the hut, he could always try to find somewhere else for the mage to stay. It would take time, of course, and when he made it so Dorian could stay here, it seemed the safest at the time. Out of the way, peaceful, calm for the most part, not many Templars around…

“Do not take that the wrong way,” Dorian said, shaking his head. “I like it here just fine. It is just a change, that’s all.”

“I’ll look into other places, if you want,” Callum said. “Just tell me what you are looking for, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“You have done enough for me as it is,” Dorian said. “I don’t know that I can ever repay you for what you have already done. I can’t ask you to do more.”

“That’s what friends do, remember?” Callum smirked as Dorian scowled. “But fine, I won’t do anything you don’t want, even if it’s to help you. Other than not having scared anyone yet, have you everything you need?”

“Yes, I get by just fine,” Dorian said. “I will need to find a job soon.”

A strange expression overcame Dorian’s face then, and Callum nearly laughed at the sight. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing. I just realized, I have never had need of a job before. This is… very new to me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Callum said. “I make more than enough money. I can buy anything you need.”

He had plenty of coin to live a decent life, with plenty to spare. He rarely needed much anyway. He was always traveling, so he had no need of a home or a stable life, really. He could give some much needed coin to Dorian.

Dorian’s eyes widened marginally. “I could not possibly ask-”

“You didn’t ask, I offered.”

“I won’t allow you to do this.”

“Too late, my mind is made up. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

“This feels… strange,” Dorian said, squirming somewhat in his chair, looking a bit uncomfortable suddenly.

Callum frowned, leaning forward. “What is it, Dorian?”

Dorian hesitated, honey eyes quickly looking down at the table, no doubt at the fine craftsmanship. “Most would get the wrong idea about us.”

“Oh? And what idea is that?”

“About how generous you’re being to me…”

“What do you mean?”

“Maker, you’re going to make me say it, aren’t you.”

“Yes.”

Dorian sighed, shoulders slouching somewhat. “Most would assume something more intimate, more _primal_ , were occurring between us.”

“You mean sex?”

Dorian visibly blushed, and it was quite the sight. Callum couldn’t stop the grin which spread across his face even as Dorian stared more intently at the table. “If you must use such blatant terms, then yes, that.”

“It’s just a word, Dori. Say it with me. S-e-x.”

“By Andraste, please, stop it.”

Callum laughed, grinning at the mage. “You’re cute when you blush.”

The blush on Dorian’s face grew darker even as those brown eyes hurried away from the tabletop to instead focus again on Callum, wide with surprise. “Did you just…? You are joking with me.”

Callum shrugged. “Perhaps. Or maybe I’m not.”

“That… That is just cruel. Which is it?”

“I’ll never tell,” Callum said, smirking as he got to his feet. “Now, I really must be off.”

“Off?” Dorian repeated with a frown, the blush dying down finally, though Callum was sad to see it go. He followed Callum to his feet. “So soon?”

“I’ve been here three days,” Callum said. “I’ll come back in a month.”

“A month,” Dorian echoed again. “Yes, that… is fine.”

“Why, Dori, do you miss me when I’m gone?”

The mage scowled, delicate features shifting. “Be gone with you, foul rogue.”

Callum tilted his head back and laughed. It was always so easy to laugh with Dorian. Why couldn’t it be like that all the time? Sadly, it was not the case. “I’ll see you in a month,” he said, picking up his knapsack and daggers, placing the blades at their appropriate spots on his back.

“It’s not quite – here, let me,” Dorian said, stepping toward him, fixing a blade on his back which had been jutting slightly out to the side from the angle at which Callum put it on.

Callum smirked as Dorian pulled away, face red again. “And there’s that blush again! Hello, blush. You look quite adorable.”

“ _Adorable_.” Dorian’s mouth curled around the word, giving it a certain flavor which left Callum’s lips twitching upward in an even wider smile. “Yes, well, we will have to work on your vocabulary. _Adorable_. The very thought!”

“Going to teach me, hmm?”

“Be gone with you, troublemaker.”

Callum smirked and shook his head as he opened the door to the hut. “Yes, well – I will be on my way. Take care of yourself, Dorian. I don’t want to return in a month to find you dead on the ground.”

“Worried about me, Callum?”

“You keep thinking that if it helps you sleep better at night. I am merely protecting my investment.”

Confusion marred Dorian’s brow. “Investment?”

“I put a lot of coin into you and this hut. I would hate to see it wasted.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “So I am merely an investment to you? How quaint.”

Callum laughed, shaking his head as he stepped out of the hut, Dorian following after him. “Seriously, though – be careful. It’s getting worse by the day.”

“The war?”

Callum nodded.

“I see. Then I shall do as you ask, if you do the same in return.”

“See! You _do_ worry about me.”

“Hush, you, and answer me.”

“Yes, fine, I will be careful. I will see you in a month.”

“Very well,” Dorian said, nodding, watching him. “Take care.”

“You as well.”

With that, Callum finally turned to walk away, feeling Dorian’s gaze on him until he disappeared down the hill.

xXx

The rogue was infuriating.

Sometimes he drove Dorian crazy.

“Stop moving,” Dorian ordered as he held Callum to the ground. The rogue hissed in pain, twisting and attempting to pull away from him. He was bleeding all over Dorian’s floor and his breaths were a little too quick for Dorian’s liking.

“Well? Help him, mage,” Emry demanded from the doorway, having rushed Callum to Dorian’s when the two were attacked on their way here. The bandit attacks in these parts were becoming worse as people fled this way after the events in Kirkwall.

“I’m trying,” Dorian snapped back at the elf, tossing him a quick glare before returning his attention back to Callum.

The blade had gone deep, near Callum’s sternum, penetrating flesh and bone. Bones were easy to convince to mend, but it took time, and would be painful. That was not the worst of it, though – no, the worst was the blood loss. He had no way of knowing how much blood Callum lost on his way to the hut, nor if the blade was poisoned. In Tevinter, if someone decided to use a blade against you, it was almost certainly poisoned, as they knew they would not get another chance.

These were simply bandits, though.

There didn’t _seem_ to be poison, but all he could really focus on right now was the blood loss.

“I’m not a healer,” he told Emry, swallowing as Callum’s eyes fluttered, face flush with fever and pain.

“Do what you can,” Emry snapped.

“I do not – I can’t – I don’t have the equipment necessary to-”

“ _Help him_.”

“I’m trying!” Dorian snapped, throwing at glare Emry’s way. “You could help me!”

Emry’s own glare faltered then, and he stepped further into the hut. “I did not… wish to get in the way,” he said quietly, looking down at Callum.

“So you would rather stand by and watch him bleed out?”

“You must help him,” Emry said, voice still so quiet, such a sudden change from a moment ago that Dorian spared him a proper look, the first one since they showed up at his door and Callum collapsed into his arms.

The elf’s face was pale, his armor covered with blood that was not his. Juding by the way he’d been holding Callum up, it was the rogue’s blood. Emry’s eyes were wide and flickering this way and that, a clear indicator of fear. He was scared.

Somehow, that seemed to make the situation worse.

_I can’t help him._

The thought appeared unbidden, but he knew it was true. He wasn’t a healer; he was a _necromancer_. He dealt with the _dead_ and he didn’t want Callum dead. Callum was his only friend, the only bright spot in his otherwise lonesome existence here in this hut in the Hinterlands.

Callum was his friend, and he couldn’t let him die.

Except he didn’t know what to do.

He wasn’t a healer; he couldn’t knit flesh back together, nor mend bone.

He had been offered the training necessary for such a thing, once. He showed more potential as a necromancer, though, and so he chose that as his lot in life. He regretted that decision now. Being a necromancy did little for Callum, after the rogue had done so much for him.

And as payment Dorian would let him die on the cold wood floor.

_No. I will not. I will not let you die._

He didn’t have much by way of bandages, but he could try.

“The kitchen,” he said to Emry. “I have bandages – near the stove.”

Emry quickly left him alone with Callum as he went to retrieve the bandages.

When Dorian looked down, tired copper-green eyes blinked up at him. “I thought I told you to be careful?” Dorian asked, scowling at the rogue.

Callum released this sound that might have been a laugh, might have been a moan. “S-orry,” he breathed tiredly, eyelids fluttering.

“Yes, well – now I suppose I must fix you up. It really won’t do for you to die on my floor.”

“Of c-course. N-ot the… floor…”

Emry returned, then, and Dorian quickly accepted the bandages.

“He will need a healer,” Dorian said. “I know there must be someone in town who can help. Quickly – go for help and I shall remain here with him and do what I can.”

He would do what he could to keep Callum alive while Emry went for help, and he would have to pray it would be enough. Even if the town didn’t have a healer, they had to have someone who could help. Perhaps not with magic, but with herbs, or something. There had to be _someone_ who could help.

“Go,” Dorian said, looking at the elf when Emry refused to move. “Now.”

“I will not leave him,” Emry said, narrowing his eyes.

“Then he dies,” Dorian snapped, glaring. “Is that what you want?”

Emry clenched his jaw but then nodded, getting to his feet, looking back down at Callum before again at Dorian. “Don’t let him die. It is my fault.”

“What do you-”

Emry spun away from him and was out the door before Dorian could blink.

That was fine, though – he had more pressing issues at the moment.

Like Callum’s closed eyes. And-

“Are you breathing? You should be breathing.”

Fingers tapped lightly against Callum’s cheek, but the rogue did not respond. He was still and silent, breathless and motionless, and in that moment something – _cracked_.

“I will not allow it,” he snapped, glaring down at the rogue.

_Of all your nerve! Forcing your way into my life, becoming my friend, I will not let you die here! You bastard, you will breathe!_

There were spells to help a person breathe, but Dorian did not know them. He was not a healer, and that had never interested him. In this moment he would have done everything differently so that he could have been a healer, but sadly, he could not change the past.

Instead, he knew but one way to get someone breathing, and that was to breathe for them until they could do so on their own again.

The method was crude, but it was all he knew, and letting Callum die here on his floor wasn’t an option.

“I hate you,” he muttered, looking down at the slack, pale face. The face he had seen so often and yet not often enough. The time between their visits seemed to last such a while. It was lonely here in the hut. With Callum around, he would admit things seemed more lively.

And he would not let it end like this.

He bent over the rogue, and sealed his mouth to Callum’s, pushing air into his reluctant lungs.

He wasn’t sure how long this lasted, couldn’t keep track of time when he just kept trying to catch his breath enough to give his air to the rogue, but finally Callum gasped, sucking in a ragged, heaving breath and coughing because of it, and Dorian pulled back enough to peer down at him as copper-green eyes opened. He was so close he could count the individual golden flecks hidden in the green depths.

“D-Dorian?” Callum coughed, wheezing as he blinked up at him. “W-What…? Where am I?”

“At my place, you idiot,” Dorian said, glaring down at him. “You show up bleeding all over the place and try to die on me. That is not very nice and I will not forgive you.”

“S-orry.”

“I will _not_ forgive you,” Dorian said again, pressing the bandages to Callum’s side, over the largest of the wounds. There were two deep ones, both bleeding profusely, and his breaths were these staggered pants Dorian rather hated.

“Did you… k-iss me?” Callum asked, and had the nerve to smile. Or, rather, his very weakened version of it, which was more like the barest twitching of his lips.

“Believe me, I did not enjoy it,” Dorian muttered, shaking his head.

“A p-ity,” Callum sighed. “You have such a… pretty mouth…”

Dorian stared down at the rogue for a moment, uncomprehending, before he shook his head. “Right – you are very out of it, my friend.”

“Dying,” Callum corrected.

“ _No_ , I will not allow it,” Dorian said, shaking his head. “Your elven friend would murder me if I let that happen.”

“Em’s a… s-oftie…”

“With arrows at the edge, soon to be pointed at me. Now, please, stop talking and rest. And _stop moving_.”

Every time Dorian almost had the bandages finished, Callum squirmed, hissing in pain.

“Must you be so difficult?”

“C-an’t be mean… to me…”

“And why is that?”

“D-Dying.”

Dorian snapped his mouth shut, teeth grinding and jaw clenching, but he refused to answer as he finally finished with the bandages, hoping they would work until Emry got back with a healer.

He wasn’t sure how his fingers became captured by Callum’s bloody, cold ones.

He just knew he didn’t feel like letting go.

xXx

“What happened?” Dorian demanded as he paced the room, Emry sitting on a chair while they waited for the healer to finish with Callum. Callum was being seen to in the tiny bedroom area – if one could call it that – while Dorian and Emry waited in the kitchen.

Emry stayed silent, looking at the ground, jaw set.

“You said it was your fault,” Dorian said, watching the elf. “What did you mean?”

A muscle in Emry’s jaw twitched but he still remained silent.

Dorian released a slow breath, a trick his mother taught him to keep calm, but it was getting more difficult by the minute. The healer seemed hopeful when she ushered them out of the room, but that was nearly two hours ago. Two hours spent in utter silence with only his thoughts for company, and his patience was wearing thin.

“Tell me,” he said. “I have a right to know.”

“You? Why is that?” Emry asked, finally speaking as he tossed him a scowl.

“He is my friend, and I kept him alive,” Dorian said.

“Yes, I bet you are his friend.”

Dorian did not like his tone. “What is that supposed to mean, exactly?”

“What kind of friend are you? Using him for his coin?”

“What? I am not using him!” Dorian said, shaking his head. “I told him not ot buy me anything. I told him to leave me alone.”

_Well – in the money regard, anyway._

“A likely story, Vint.”

Dorian growled, glaring at the elf who blinked at him in return. “You don’t like me – that’s perfectly fine. But _don’t_ accuse me of things. Do not _assume_ things. You know _nothing_.”

“Then tell me.”

“Maybe I will when you tell me what you did to him.”

Emry faltered briefly. “Beg pardon?”

“You said it was your fault.” Dorian took in a slow breath. “Did you stab him?”

Friendly fire wasn’t unheard of, after all. Sometimes mistakes happened, even to the best of people, to the most trained. All it took was one little slip-up and one could easily kill their friend, even if it was a terrible accident.

Emry looked away. “I do not use blades, mage. No, I did not stab him.”

“Then what happened? I am merely trying to understand. He is my friend, too. I care about him, just as you do.”

This was… surprisingly true, he had to admit. Over the past few months the two had been having visits in the hut, he’d grown to enjoy the rogue’s company. He looked forward to their meetings and felt _upset_ when that time ended and Callum had to go back to work. He tried to show up every few weeks, or whenever he was in the area, but that left Dorian on his own more often than not, and he didn’t particularly like it.

He had always been a pariah, but he’d never been alone like this. Physically alone, surrounded by only his thoughts.

Callum’s visits were a bright spot in his day, he had to admit. He did care about the rogue. They were friends. Dorian wasn’t entirely sure he knew what that meant – he’d never really been friends with anyone in Tevinter (aside from Felix) outside of physical pleasure. It was all about pleasure and quick release, not actual companionship.

It was different now, though. So much different.

It almost scared him, how much things had changed.

How much _he_ had changed.

“It was meant for me,” Emry mumbled, causing Dorian to shake his thoughts away.

“Beg pardon?”

Emry sighed heavily, bowing his head, looking at the ground. “I was cocky and didn’t see the guy behind me. Callum did. By the time I turned around he’d taken the hit for me.”

“Oh, yes… I see…” Dorian said slowly, nodding. “That… sounds like Callum.”

Emry’s lips twitched upward faintly. “Yes. It does.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is.”

“No – you didn’t know he was there. So you maybe weren’t as observant as you should have been – everyone makes mistakes, even you.”

“Everyone else’s mistakes don’t almost get their friends killed.”

“You would be surprised. It’s not your fault. I know Callum doesn’t blame you.”

“Yes, well – he’s not here, is he?” Emry muttered distastefully. “And what if he dies?”

Dorian hated how that thought left his stomach churning. “The healer seems hopeful.”

“It’s been hours.”

“If I am not saving your friend’s life fast enough, I’m sorry,” came the healer’s slightly annoyed voice, and Dorian spun toward the doorway as Emry shot to his feet, both looking at her.

She was an older woman with long brown hair, graying at the edges, and dark sapphire eyes which she used to level them with a glare.

“I did not have to come here.”

“No – we’re sorry,” Dorian said quickly, shaking his head. “We are merely – worried. We did not mean to be rude. How is our friend?”

The healer nodded. “Your friend will live, but I must advise against strenuous activity for at least a week.”

“So he can’t travel?” Emry asked.

“I would not advise it.”

“He can stay here,” Dorian said.

Emry frowned at Dorian. “Yes… I suppose that’s an option…”

“It seems to be the only option, unless you want to pawn him off on strangers,” Dorian said, watching the elf.

Emry sighed and nodded. “Very well. Callum will remain here. I will… I must report back and tell them what happened.”

Dorian understand Emry didn’t wish to say too much in front of the healer, so he merely nodded.

“You may see him if you like,” the healer said. “However, he needs his rest, so do not wake him.”

“You can see him,” Dorian offered.

Emry looked past the healer, toward the area leading into the tiny bedroom, as he chewed on his lip before he finally shook his head and took a step away from them. “No – that won’t be necessary. Now that I know he will live, I can leave. Thank you for helping him. Here is your payment.”

He held out a pouch of coins, dropping three silvers into the healer’s waiting hand. She smiled and nodded and bid them farewell before leaving. Then it was just the two of them.

“He doesn’t blame you,” Dorian said, sensing Emry’s guilt.

“I know. But I do need to be going, and he won’t wake for a while anyway. Tell him I will return soon,” Emry said, heading for the door.

Dorian took in a breath and nodded. “Very well, if that is your wish. Be careful.”

Emry grunted in response and left the hut, closing the door behind him.

Dorian turned toward his bedroom area. His bed was small but rather comfortable given the circumstances. It could fit two people but they would have to squeeze together, and Callum looked comfortable in the middle, so Dorian pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed, watching the shallow rush of breath as his chest rose and fell in rhythm.

It had been a long day, and he was exhausted. He was drained, mentally and physically. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he didn’t trust Callum on his own yet, so he forced himself to stay awake.

He hoped it wasn’t as creepy as it sounded, watching Callum sleep.


	6. Stubborn Fools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So - I found out that 3 years take place between DA2 and DA:I, so I have 3 whole years to play with :3 Yay! We'll see what I do with this xD Anyway, comment, please? :D

Chapter Five: Stubborn Fools

 

It took Callum a day to awaken, and Dorian spent that time reading by candlelight at his bedside. Perhaps he wasn’t needed, as the healer thought him out of danger. He would make a full recovery. But what kind of friend would Dorian be if he didn’t wait for Callum to awaken? Emry couldn’t get out of there fast enough. It was the guilt he felt for Callum’s injuries, but he should have stayed to make sure his friend recovered fully. Even Dorian knew that, and he’d only known Callum roughly six months.

The rogue was thirsty when he awoke, asking for water, which Dorian offered in a nugskin flask, bringing it to chapped lips. Callum blinked at him with half-lidded, dark eyes with flecks of gold in them, and after he was done drinking, offered him a smile.

“You look… like crap.”

“Why, thank you,” Dorian said, putting the flask away. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me after waking. Truly, you are a marvel.”

Callum smirked. “I am amazing, huh? What…” His brows furrowed, then. “What happened? Where’s…? I remember Emry. Where is he? Is he…?”

“Your elven friend is fine, if not an asshole.”

“Well… nothing new there,” Callum said somewhat tentatively, frowning, obviously unaware of what happened. Unaware that he stumbled against Dorian as soon as the mage opened the door. Unaware he stopped breathing for a time. Unaware he nearly bled out on Dorian’s floor before help arrived. Unaware that Dorian had been at his bedside since the healer left.

“He had somewhere to be, apparently,” Dorian said, shaking his head. “As for what happened, you were injured in a fight with bandits. I must advise against such activities in the future. My floor will never be the same after you attempted to die on it. Blood stains rarely come out, you see.”

“I… Oh,” Callum said, finally nodding slowly. “Yeah, I remember now, sorry. Emry really left?”

“He seemed quite eager to leave, but I think he felt guilty for what happened,” Dorian explained at the somewhat crestfallen expression present on the rogue’s face. It was an expression he found himself hating, in a way. “He said it was his fault.”

“It wasn’t,” Callum sighed, shaking his head. “But of course getting that through his head is a battle in its own right. How long have I been out?”

“A day,” Dorian said. “You are to be on strict bedrest for a time. Healer’s rules.”

“A healer, huh?”

“Yes. She did a thorough job. Are you in pain?”

Callum blinked at the question, as though surprised he would ask, and Dorian made a mental note to question him about it later. In the meantime, if the rogue was in pain, Dorian needed to know if he was going to be able to do anything about it.

“I’m fine,” Callum said. “Thanks for the concern, Dori, but I have a high pain threshold. I’m good.”

Dorian scowled. “High pain threshold or not, you nearly bled out on my floor. The stains will never come out and I am going to have to look at it the rest of my time here.”

The words were out before he could stop them, his mouth running on autopilot. But that was what he did – rambled to get his way through things, without thinking. He didn’t truly care about the floor – the stain bothered him only in that he knew it was blood that discolored it and not something else – but it seemed easier to focus on it than the fact he very nearly lost his only friend.

His only friend outside of Tevinter. Outside of Felix.

He wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of emotions which attempted to overtake him each time he thought about it. Over the night, and through the day, waiting for Callum to awaken, he spent most of his time attempting to push away these very thoughts.

He had been on his own before. He left Tevinter knowing he would most certainly be on his own as soon as he left the city. He spent most of his time here in the hut alone. He would be fine on his own should something befall Callum and the rogue no longer came to see him.

He would be perfectly fine.

Except that stain on the floor would forever be dark and Callum almost died, and try as he might to ignore how much this affected him, there was no true way to ignore it other than misdirection.

And so he complained of the floor.

“That was solid oak, you know,” he said. “Perfect for flooring, truly. Always smooth under my feet. And what do you do? You go and bleed all over it.”

For a moment Callum stared at him, and then laughed and shook his head.

“I’m sorry about your floor, Dorian. I’ll try not to ruin it with my blood again.”

“Mm, yes, see that you don’t.”

_Do not arrive here in that condition again. Do not be put in that condition again._

As Callum’s friend, it was only natural to want to see him safe, especially when he had no one else. Try as he might to ignore whatever attachment he was starting to feel for the rogue – friendship had always been tricky for him, after all – he couldn’t quite push away that touch of _something_ that had sprung through him when Callum collapsed against him in a bloody mess.

Couldn’t ignore the way something _cracked_ when the rogue stopped breathing with the stench of his blood in the air.

He was snapped from his thoughts when Callum pushed his elbows under him, attempting to sit up even as he winced. Dorian pushed him back down with a hand firm on the naked flesh of Callum’s chest as the covers fell away, and copper-green eyes flashed toward him.

“Dorian?”

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Dorian said firmly. “You rogue types, always on the go. You were stabbed, and the healer said you must take it easy for a while. That means no getting out of bed, I’m afraid.”

Callum scowled. “Dorian, I need to find Emry.”

“Emry will still be there when you have recovered.”

“You don’t know him like I do. I need to go after him. He doesn’t wear guilt well.”

“I’m sure he will feel even guiltier if his absence is what makes you refuse to rest until you are well,” Dorian pointed out, and Callum went quiet, watching him with pursed lips. “It can’t truly be that bad, can it? Resting in a warm bed instead of traveling in the weather, dealing with bandits?”

“Well, when you put it _that_ way,” Callum mumbled, shaking his head. “Fine, you win. I’ll rest for a bit, and then look for him.”

_A bit? You will remain in bed until I say otherwise. Stupid, reckless rogue._

xXx

Callum hated being bedridden, especially when he was perfectly fine. Who would have thought Dorian was a mother hen? After waking – and being scolded for not being careful enough to avoid injury and attempting to die on Dorian’s precious floor – he had done as the healer instructed and had remained bedridden for two days despite how utterly boring it was. On the third day, he grew tired of Dorian’s constant fussing.

“I am fine,” he said as Dorian attempted to push him back down onto the bed yet again. “If you push me back down you will find yourself on the ground. I’m fine. Perfectly healed.”

The healer did good work, he had to admit. All that would remain of the attack would be a thin white mark upon his flesh, and it would merely mingle with the other scars, memories of his past.

Dorian scowled. “I was told to keep you bedridden for a week.”

“Really? Those were the healer’s exact words?”

“No strenuous activity-”

“Ah, yes, _strenuous_. I can get up and walk around just fine, you see.” As if to prove this point, he got to his feet and made a show of his perfect balance as he shifted from foot to foot, smiling at Dorian. “See? All perfectly mended.”

“ _Festis bei umo caravarum,_ ” Dorian muttered, shaking his head, throwing his palms into the air as he spun on his heel and walked away from the tiny bedroom area. Callum frowned, following him out.

“That sounds very long and angry. You’re angry with me?”

“No, I am not angry with you,” Dorian said as they entered the main room. “I am merely annoyed with you right now. You are impossible.”

“How am I impossible?”

“Nothing. Do as you wish; it is not my place to stop you.”

The change in behavior was all very sudden and Callum found it mildly discomforting. He chewed on his lower lip briefly before resting a hand on Dorian’s shoulder, causing the mage to stiffen at his touch, which seemed so very wrong. Dorian had been rather tactile – friendly. He did not shy away from friendly touches such as a slap to the back or a pat on the shoulder, and yet now he shied away and Callum was not sure what to think of this.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked uncertainly.

“Other than showing up bleeding out on my floor, you mean?”

“I’m sorry about your precious floor,” Callum muttered, rolling his eyes as he dropped his hand away. “Had I known it was so important to you I would have stayed outside to die in the grass.”

“ _Do not-_ ” Dorian spun toward him but snapped his mouth shut almost immediately, a muscle in his jaw jumping sporadically. He could almost hear Dorian counting to ten in his head before the mage released a slow breath and shook his head. “I am not angry about the floor.”

“Then why do you keep mentioning it?”

Every time they brought up Callum’s wounds, or his sudden arrival with Emry, or even Emry’s sudden departure before Callum awoke, the conversation always led back to him bleeding all over the nice wooden floor. Those stains would never come out, Dorian said. What a shame. He liked that floor.

_Nice to know you care more for your floor than for my life, but it is what it is, I suppose._

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting in the first place, really. He and Dorian had only known each other a little over half a year; there was no reason to think the mage would value his life over anything. It was how the game was played, after all. Survival and all that. Dorian didn’t need Callum, but he did need his hut, and now he would have to do something for the floor.

“Never mind,” Callum said, shaking his head, when Dorian didn’t answer. “Where did Em say he was going, again?”

“He did not say.”

“Oh.”

Then he would have to track down the elf. How fun. Ugh.

Tracking people down was not his favorite pastime, least of all hunting for Emry. The elf could be very difficult to find when he got into his moods, and after what happened, Callum was definitely willing to bet he was feeling guilty even though it wasn’t his fault.

“Right, well… I should be going, then.”

Dorian frowned. “Excuse me?”

“I feel I’ve overstayed my welcome,” Callum said. “Where did you put my clothes and supplies? Did that healer have to strip me of everything?”

The healer took off everything from the waist up to attend to his wounds, and his pants were a lost battle, covered in blood. He had spare clothes in his knapsack but he had yet to see it here yet, and wondered if it was perhaps lost on the battlefield, surrounded by dead bandits.

“You’re not going anywhere, my friend.”

Callum looked back at Dorian from where he had been scouring the room, searching for his knapsack and blades. “Beg pardon?”

Dorian scowled. “I might be annoyed with you but there is no way I am letting you wander off on your own to get yourself killed. Was nearly bleeding out on my floor not enough the first time?”

“Again with your precious _floor_ ,” Callum muttered, scowling back at the mage. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry about your blighted floor. I’ll never touch it again, is that what you want?”

“You don’t know what I want,” Dorian said, narrowing his eyes further, into the beginnings of a glare.

“Then what do you want?” Callum demanded with a glare of his own.

Dorian snapped his mouth shut again, and Callum shook his head.

“Where’s my stuff, Dorian?”

“In the kitchen,” the mage finally said.

Callum nodded and moved around Dorian to make his way into the kitchen, but on the way the mage caught his arm and easily held him back since he wasn’t at full strength, and in truth he didn’t wish to fight Dorian. He turned to face the mage with a scowl.

“Yes? Do you want me to kiss your precious floor, too?”

“Look at it.”

Callum blinked, confused. “Excuse me?”

“Look at the floor,” Dorian said, gesturing. “Right there.”

Callum followed his gesturing to find the darkened area of the wood floor, near the doorway. He knew the darkened area was his blood, dried against the wood, staining it.

“What of it?” he asked, looking back at Dorian, who scowled more in return.

“ _That_ is where you almost died. _That_ is where you stained my floor. Yes – I dislike the fact that stain is there and I must look at it, but I find I am more upset about you _nearly bleeding out_ on that floor. Do you understand?”

Callum frowned. “Not really.”

“Yes, I suppose I am poor at such syrupy conversations.”

He couldn’t stop the slight snicker. “Syrupy? You say the nicest things, Dori.”

That blush was back but so was the glare. “ _You_ , on the other hand, must learn to get a filter. And if you comment on a blush that I do not have, _again_ , I might be forced to throttle you.”

“ _Throttle_ me, eh? Well, you’re welcome to _try_.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Do you take nothing seriously?”

“There’s no fun in that.”

“Yes, well, some of us are trying to have a serious conversation and you are making it rather difficult.”

Callum took in a breath. “Alright, fine. I’m serious. Speak.”

“I very much doubt that.” Dorian released a puff of air. “I am not angry about the floor. I find myself perturbed at the thought of you _dying_ , if you must know.”

“Oh, I must – wait, what?” He frowned, his glib comments dying away as he stared at the mage. “You’re really worried, then? You’re not angry about the floor?”

“You are my friend, and I do not have many of those out here,” Dorian said, as though attempting to explain it not only to Callum, but to himself. “Yes – the thought of becoming less one friend isn’t particularly satisfying. Is that what you wish to hear?”

“Getting there,” Callum said, offering a faint smile. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“I never said I was scared.”

“You didn’t have to.”

It was silent for a moment, while Dorian blinked at him for a moment, before looking away.

“Yes, well… you owe me a new floor.”

“Yes, Dorian, I’m very sorry for your floor.”

The mage sighed and nodded before he turned to head into the kitchen area. Callum watched him go, even as he fought the urge to tiptoe out the door. Being bedridden had never been something he enjoyed, which was why he made it a point not to get injured. It was why he was a good rogue; he used stealth to his advantage and generally avoided an enemy’s attacks with dexterous ease.

But then that bandit had snuck up on Emry, and he couldn’t let his friend take the hit, and he didn’t have the time to do anything other than step between the two of them.

And Emry ran off after the healer said Callum would be okay. He figured it was a good sign Emry waited to know he was okay instead of immediately leaving out of guilt. Emry never handled guilt well in all the years they’d known each other.

He hated that he worried Emry – and Dorian – but he didn’t mean to get attacked. The elf running off on him seemed rather rude, in the wake of his recovery. Dorian stuck around.

_Yeah, because he had a choice, right? You’re staying in his home. Of course he stuck around._

“Something on your mind?”

Callum blinked, pulling himself from his thoughts as he glanced at the doorway into the kitchen. Dorian’s head poked out of it, soft brown eyes focusing on him, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“No – I’m fine. Also, very hungry.”

Dorian smirked in response. “Right – I forgot about your voracious appetite.”

“Hey, you could have saved yourself the food if you let me die, you know.”

It was the wrong joke to make, and he knew it as soon as he said it, as Dorian’s expression flattened and those soft eyes darkened, and he the smirk disappeared.

_Right. Smart move, Callum. When will you learn to keep your big mouth shut? Before or after Dorian decides he hates you?_

He sighed and followed Dorian into the kitchen.

xXx

“I can’t believe I let you come with me.”

Dorian snorted, tossing the rogue a quick glance. Callum walked a few paces ahead of him, leading the way through the small city in which they found themselves. He’d forgotten the name, not that it mattered, really. Callum seemed to think they would find Emry here, and after five days of staying with Dorian he insisted on looking for Emry. As he was not a hundred percent – he still winced when he moved wrong and there was bruising along where the blade had entered, though the wound itself was nothing more than a thin white line – Dorian insisted on going with him should he encounter more bandits. It was not safe for him to travel alone in his condition.

And thus here they were, with Callum still bellyaching over Dorian’s decision to join him. In all truth it was nice to be out of the hut. As grateful as he was for the place, it was lonely and out of the way. He missed the rush of a city, missed the hustle and bustle of people, and had to admit he rather enjoyed Callum’s company, even if he was a little grouchy at Dorian’s insistence on coming with him. For two days they had been traveling nonstop. Dorian assumed Callum was attempting to prove a point – that he was perfectly fine and there was no reason for Dorian to join him.

He hoped they found Emry soon so this façade would end and Callum would relax. He had to be close to collapse.

“Hold it right there, _mage_ ,” demanded a firm voice, and immediately Dorian halted and spun to find someone glaring at him, dressed in heavy armor. This had to be a Templar, he told himself. His very first Templar outside of Tevinter. They looked a bit different here, and unlike those in Tevinter who were mostly useless – a handful of Templars packed in with a city full of mages wasn’t going to do much, after all – these ones actually seemed rather confident in their abilities. Beyond that first Templar stood two more, and they approached as a unit.

In that moment Dorian regretted his decision to bring his staff with him, but he wanted to be prepared in case Callum was more tired than he let on, and couldn’t defend himself should a group of bandits attack.

And then a head of sandy hair was blocking Dorian’s view as Callum stepped in front of him, palms outstretched defensively.

“Whoa, hold it,” Callum said quickly. “We mean you no harm. We’re merely passing through.”

“You may pass, but the mage may not,” said the first Templar. “All mages need to be made tranquil.”

A shiver ran through Dorian’s spine. In Tevinter, being made tranquil was only a rumor – _fiction_. They did not have it there. He knew about it, though, and to hear it used so carelessly, for _him_ …

_I picked a bad day to play mage._

“No one decided that,” Callum was saying when Dorian tuned back in. He still stood in front of Dorian with arms outstretched now, attempting to hide Dorian from view, even though the rogue was shorter than him. “I heard people are trying to set up peace talks.”

“Peace talks will not work against these abominations!”

“I am _not_ an abomination,” Dorian said distastefully.

“Not helping,” Callum spat, tossing him a glare over his shoulder.

“Step aside, we have no quarrel with you, only the mage.”

“Then we have a problem, because I’m not going to let you near him,” Callum said instantly, and Dorian scowled at the back of Callum’s head. He did not need the rogue to fight his battles for him.

The Templars didn’t seem to care, though, as they all charged forward as one, and Callum sprang into action, dodging one templar’s sword while reaching for his daggers on his back. He yanked them free and Dorian pulled his staff free as well, encasing a Templar in ice.

Callum disappeared into the shadows as a sword swiped at Dorian’s head from the third Templar, who managed to sneak up close to Dorian unnoticed until then. Dorian jumped back at the last possible second, his heart racing in his chest. He’d never been in such a battle before! It was breathtaking in all the wrong ways. One wrong move would mean death.

He knew tensions were getting worse, and yes there was a war between mages and Templars, but he didn’t think he would just be outright attacked by a group of them without provoking anyone. He hadn’t been looking to attack anyone or anything – he had merely been walking peacefully, and they sprang on him.

And they sprang on Callum, simply for sticking with him.

All of it left a foul taste in Dorian’s mouth.

His mind blast spell launched the Templar away from him. He looked around for the rogue and found Callum sinking his daggers into the first Templar’s back, yanking them free as he cast his gaze toward Dorian.

In that moment Dorian became aware of two things.

The first was that his lungs suddenly wouldn’t expand, the breath knocked out of him in one fell swoop.

The second was the fact he felt so very drained, and when he tried to call on his mana to cast a spell at the Templar rushing at him, he found himself unable to do so. He was completely powerless at that moment, and that – _terrified_ him. He had never been without his power before, had always been confident in his magic, reliant on it in ways, and in that moment he had nothing.

Just a Templar rushing at him, and a magic-less staff in his grip.

_A staff with a blade._

As the Templar rushed him with his sword, Dorian spun his staff around in his grip, jutting the blade forward into the Templar’s oncoming stomach.

And that was the end of that particular Templar.

Panting, barely able to remain standing, mind hazy with exhaustion and the fact he could not use his mana, he looked around and found Callum dealing with the final Templar, pulling his daggers free of the Templar’s chest, before the rogue turned to face Dorian.

And then there was a white haze, his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and the last thing he heard was Callum’s panicked, “Dorian!”

xXx

“Fuck, don’t be hurt, don’t be hurt, don’t,” Callum chanted as he darted toward Dorian’s side, collapsing to his knees next to him. The movement caused his side to twinge with pain, but he ignored it and focused on running his hands up and down along Dorian’s sides. At least his robes were good for something – they didn’t hinder this particular movement like armor did.

After finding no noticeable wounds on Dorian, he realized what must have happened, and then quietly laughed to himself, sitting back on his heels after realizing Dorian wasn’t in any danger.

“First time you got blasted by a Templar, huh, Dori?” he asked the still form, and shook his head as he looked around. They were in a fairly secluded part of the city, in a back alley. It was a shortcut to where he thought they might find Emry. Unfortunately it was also an easy place to attack a mage in public, unprovoked. Not that they needed much reason to do so.

The mage-templar war was growing, spreading, and soon it would get so much worse. Callum knew this, but there was little he could do about it. Nevertheless, he knew it was worse than the general population was led to believe. The war didn’t only effect mages and Templars; it effected everyone, all of Thedas. Their battles would claim innocent bystanders, and soon everyone would have to choose sides.

If something wasn’t done about this soon…

He sighed and shook his head. Right now he needed to focus on the present, and not the possible bloodshed of the future.

“Alright, Dorian – how on Thedas am I going to carry you?”

Callum was short and small – thin and athletic in build, but not particularly strong. That was why he was a rogue, after all, and not a Templar. He went by his stealth and cunning, and small form, and not brute strength.

“Callum?”

Callum’s nose wrinkled as he recognized the voice, and he looked up to find Emry approaching them, a frown on the elf’s face. “Oh, _now_ you show up,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Where were you five minutes ago, when Templars jumped us?”

“Are you…? What are you doing out here? You should be resting,” Emry said.

“Yes, well, having my best friend disappear on me left me feeling a bit cranky, and you know how much I hate bedrest anyway,” Callum said with a shrug, getting to his feet.

He had the small satisfaction of watching Emry flinch a little.

“Yes, I… I am sorry,” Emry said quietly, sunset eyes looking away. “I merely – I had things to do.”

“Such as?”

“A job.”

“You don’t do solo jobs.”

“I do now.”

That took him by surprise. “What? Since when? Why?”

“Since you nearly died,” he said, voice quiet again, and Callum snapped his mouth shut, staring at Emry. “I was cocky, and made a mistake, and that mistake nearly got you killed. It is best if… we do not travel together from now on.”

“Oh, you’re joking, right? Tell me you’re joking.”

“I am not. I have spoken to Craig, and he has given his acceptance.”

“I don’t care if he gives you the blood of Andraste, you are not fighting alone,” Callum snapped, glaring at his friend. “All of this because I took a tiny blade to the gut? I’m fine, Emry. So you made a mistake – big deal! We all make them sometimes!”

“And you nearly died for it.”

“Dammit, Emry, you blighted idiot, I _will_ smack some sense into you if you make me!”

Emry finally looked back at him. “I have made my decision. I will not endanger others.”

“You didn’t _endanger_ me, Emry! The guy was _cloaked_ , okay? You couldn’t have known he was there! I only realized at the last minute! If you’re at fault then so am I for not realizing sooner.”

Emry shook his head. “No, you are not to blame.”

“And neither are you. Don’t be ridiculous, Em. It wasn’t your fault and I don’t blame you. Okay? You didn’t endanger me. I’m fine. I lived. We all make mistakes, it’s fine. Okay? Please, don’t do anything rash.”

“Callum… you make it sound so simple…”

“It _is_ simple,” Callum said firmly, glaring at the elf. “You are not to blame, just as I am not to blame. It was an _accident_ , Emry, and accidents happen. And I traveled all this way to come after your sorry ass and I will not let you walk away now.”

A faint smile worked its way onto Emry’s face, for which Callum was happy to see. “You always were stubborn.”

“You’re damn right I am. Now, help me carry Dorian’s lazy ass somewhere safe.”

“What happened to him?”

“He’s fine,” Callum said, waving a hand. “Templar drained him. Apparently it’s never happened to him before. He’ll be tired and probably sick to his stomach for a bit, but he’ll be fine. Are you going to help me or not?”

Emry nodded slowly, and stepped closer. Together they hauled Dorian to his feet and with him settled between them, they began to move him down the alley.

 


	7. The Storm Coast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playing with the timeline and everything, so xD We'll see how it goes, I guess. Thoughts?

Chapter Six: The Storm Coast

 

“That’s it, Dori, open your eyes.”

“Ugh… what hit me…”

Consciousness returned with a vengeance. His head ached, his stomach churned, and there was this foul taste in his mouth as he blinked his eyes open to find Callum hovering over him, grinning down at him.

“That would be a Templar,” Callum said with a soft snicker. “You passed out.”

“I did not do such a thing.”

“Oh, but you _did_ ,” Callum said, smirking at him.

Dorian scowled but knew the rogue was right – he was hit with the Templar’s draining ability, which was what gave them an edge over mages in the first place, and it was his first time getting hit with such an attack. He’d heard of such attacks in Tevinter, of course, but had never seen it in practice and had never been hit by such a thing.

“How do you feel?” Callum asked, frowning down at him now.

“Embarrassed,” Dorian muttered honestly.

The smile returned. “Yes, well, nothing I can do about that, sorry. But hey, it’s not your fault – it was your first time getting hit with that attack, yes?”

Dorian nodded.

“Everyone passes out at first, it seems. Anyway – we’re safe for now, and Emry decided to stop being an asshole.”

“You found him?” Dorian asked, and then frowned at the rogue. “You wandered off alone?”

“Well, you were in no condition to travel with me, were you? But no, he actually found us and helped me carry your lazy ass out of that alley.”

“I am not lazy,” Dorian protested as he pushed his arms under him and sat up, immediately regretting such an action as his head spun. “How do mages continue standing after such a thing? This is terrible.”

“Only because it’s your first time,” Callum said simply. “Like everything else, you’ll build a certain tolerance to its side effects. I mean, your mana will still be useless, but you won’t feel so sick and shouldn’t pass out on me again.”

Dorian shook his head. “I’ve not wish to repeat that experience.”

“All Templars have that ability,” Callum warned.

“A pity. My hut sounds better by the second.”

The rogue smirked at him. “I knew you missed it.”

“Where is Emry, then?” Dorian asked, looking around, changing the subject.

“He’s getting you safe passage out of the city,” Callum said, all smiles disappearing from his face in that moment, and Dorian frowned at him.

“ _Me_ safe passage? Not us?”

“I won’t be returning with you, I’m afraid.”

“And why is that?”

“You sound like you _want_ me to go back with you.”

Dorian scowled, narrowing his eyes at the rogue. “Do what you wish. I am merely curious.”

“Yes, well – a job turned up nearby, and the less people who travel with you, the less likely you are to be noticed,” Callum explained with a small shrug. “Go straight home, Dorian.”

“Very well, _Mother_.”

He regretted saying it even as the words left his mouth. He used to mock his own mother like that at times, when her wishful thinking became too much, her wishes for him to accept a bride and live in luxurious despair until it was his time to take his father’s place in the Magisterium. Thoughts of his mother were better left in the back of his mind.

“Are you okay?”

Dorian blinked, frowning. “Yes, why?”

“You got this faraway look in your eyes,” Callum said. “Are you homesick? Do you miss Tevinter?”

“When is Emry getting back?”

“Must be a touchy subject if you’re looking forward to his arrival, seeing how you two get along,” Callum commented, and Dorian scowled at him.

“I do not wish to discuss it right now. Perhaps later, at the hut.”

Callum shrugged. “Hey, you don’t have to tell me anything.”

Dorian shook his head, sighing heavily. The room they were in was small but comfortable enough, temperature-wise. It wasn’t too hot or too cold, given that winter was fast approaching. It would be his first winter away from home, in the south no less, and he wasn’t particularly looking forward to it. He’d never been very fond of the cold.

“Where is this job?” Dorian asked, glancing back at Callum.

“Along the Storm Coast,” Callum replied.

“Oh. What a lovely name for a place.”

“I know – you’d hate it there.”

“Why must you go there?”

“I can’t say.”

“Killing someone, then?”

He shouldn’t have felt so comfortable asking such a question, to an _assassin_ of all things, and yet it felt perfectly natural with Callum. He wasn’t sure what that said about him, or about Callum, or about their friendship.

“Supposed to just get information,” Callum surprised him by answering. He was usually very secretive about his work, never given Dorian any details or clues, merely shrugging whenever he asked.

“So no fighting, then,” Dorian said, and found that his shoulders dropped in _relief_ of all things. A part of him did not wish for Callum to be involved in yet another fight when he was still not fully healed.

“Unless the need arises, no,” Callum replied with a small shrug. “Contrary to what you might think, I don’t go _looking_ for fights.”

_Perhaps not, but the fights certainly seem to like looking for you._

Why this mattered, Dorian was uncertain. In Tevinter there were rambunctious peers who constantly sought some sort of fight, which usually never ended well. Upset someone enough and it could provoke a duel, and those could be until the death. It was best not to go around picking fights.

This was not Tevinter, though – Callum would not find himself in any sort of duel like back home. Instead he would just find himself slain on the ground and left to rot, and Dorian rather hated the mental image that thought gave him.

“Perhaps I should accompany you,” Dorian found himself saying without giving his mouth permission to speak. Sometimes passing thoughts simply got the best of him and he said them without thinking of what they implied.

The look Callum gave him said enough.

“It was merely a suggestion,” Dorian said. “It has only been a week since you nearly died; perhaps it would be best to have three along for this ‘job’ instead of two.”

“Ugh, this again? I’m fine,” Callum complained, rolling his eyes. “And anyway, this isn’t your type of job.”

“You are merely seeking information, not hunting someone in order to kill them,” Dorian said. “In Tevinter we crave information and areas of study. I could be of use to you.”

“Are you saying you _want_ to go to the Storm Coast?” Callum quirked a thick brow at him.

“I’ve no interest in going anywhere known for being ‘stormy’, but I would not be opposed to going. I am offering.”

“And you’re _serious_?”

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

The rogue shrugged slowly, carefully watching him. “It could get bloody.”

“Then having three people along would be for the best, yes?”

“You could be noticed as a mage.”

“I feel I would be safer, if spotted, having the three of us as a group instead of me traveling back to my hut alone. What say you?”

Callum was quiet for a long moment, before he sighed and shook his head. “Emry won’t like this.”

“He will get over it.”

“Get over what?” Emry asked as he finally rejoined them, a door closing loudly in his wake, startling Dorian. He glanced over at the elf who was already scowling at him.

_Ah, yes. Good to see some things haven’t changed._

“Dorian here has decided he wants to see the Storm Coast for himself.”

The scowl on Emry’s face darkened. “You _told_ him what we were doing and where we were going? You know you aren’t supposed to tell anyone.”

Callum waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, well, he wants to go, and he kind of has a point.”

“Oh? And what point is this?” the elf demanded.

“He’s safer with us than he is traveling back alone,” Callum said.

Dorian opened his mouth to protest, as that was _not_ his point, but then snapped it shut because his point didn’t really matter if it allowed him to go, did it? Again he wondered why he wanted to go at all, and chased away those nagging thoughts that mentioned Callum’s previous injuries.

“You can’t be serious,” Emry said, glaring at the rogue now.

“It makes sense, Em.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“We’re just getting information, remember?”

“And? What happens should a fight arise?”

“I can handle myself, you know,” Dorian felt the need to point out, tired of the fact the two spoke of him as though he were not in the room.

The elf’s gaze slid toward him. “Just like you _handled yourself_ with those Templars?”

Anger flashed through Dorian but before he could say anything, Callum was already speaking.

“Hey, that’s not fair to Dorian, it was his first time getting hit with that,” the rogue said, and Dorian would admit to some satisfaction at Callum’s sticking up for him, even though he could fight his own battles. “It takes a certain tolerance.”

“And if we run into Templars along the Storm Coast?”

“We’ll deal with them,” Callum said firmly. “We shouldn’t have to fight if we’re careful, and it is safer for him to travel with us for now than sending him back alone.”

_Is he…? Is he doing this for **my** safety?_

That was… oddly touching, and Dorian wasn’t sure what to do about it, or how to react other than to stare at the back of the rogue’s head as he stood talking to Emry. The stance said it all – Callum was worried, about _him_ of all things, and he’d never quite had a friend like that.

Sure, he had Felix, but in Tevinter there had been no real reason to worry. Dorian’s family protected him from naysayers who disliked him for his magical prowess and the fact he preferred the company of men.

That little tidbit was something he hadn’t shared with Callum yet, but the subject never came up so he wasn’t lying to him. He didn’t think Callum would mind, if his flirting was anything to go by. Then again, that was all it was – harmless flirting. It didn’t mean anything.

And why was Dorian even thinking about this?

He shook the thoughts away and watched as Emry shook his head, sighed in defeat, and then turned to leave while Callum turned back toward Dorian with a smile.

“The good news is you’re in.”

“And the bad?” he asked, quirking a brow.

“The bad news is you made Emry mad.”

“He doesn’t much like me.”

“He’ll come around,” Callum said, waving a dismissive hand. “He’s a big softy under those angry edges.”

“Yes, well, I shall take your word for it.”

xXx

The Storm Coast was everything Callum said it would be. Stormy, next to the sea. Already Dorian hated it.

He’d never been fond of the sea, or beaches. In all honesty he’d rather be somewhere else, but for some reason felt drawn to Callum’s side. They were friends, he reasoned, and that was what friends were for – staying with said friend when they weren’t at their peak performance under the guise of keeping them safe.

In Tevinter, it was different. One didn’t worry about another’s safety unless it directly benefited them. It was something Dorian didn’t much like of his homeland. There was no such thing as selflessness there; everyone was out for themselves. It was something he wished he could change, because there was much potential in Tevinter and their rich history and everything, but if things kept on the course they were now… He could only foresee a downfall in the future as the rest of Thedas would not come to their aid should they require it, and eventually the qunari would defeat them, as mages weren’t typically fighters like the qunari.

“So why are we here? What information are you searching for?” he finally asked as they made camp along a hilltop overlooking the sea. The waves crashing against the shore was supposed to have a calming effect, yet it just made Dorian seasick just looking at the large whitecap waves.

Callum and Emry shared a quick look – Callum’s expectant, Emry’s reluctant, and finally the rogue looked at him to reply.

“Well, do you remember a few months ago when that rebellion broke out in Kirkwall?”

Yes, Dorian recalled that very clearly. He nodded.

“Well, the Champion of Kirkwall has gone missing and is said to be hiding out along the Storm Coast.”

“Why is he missing?”

“He is a mage, and sided with the mages,” Callum said with a shrug. “I don’t know why he’s wanted but he is. We’re looking for him or information regarding him.”

“And… if we find him?”

“We’ll talk to him and attempt to bring him in.”

“Attempt,” Dorian repeated flatly. “You expect resistance.”

“He’s wanted for questioning or something by this Seeker lady,” Callum said, shaking his head. “I don’t know why. She doesn’t plan on hurting him – she wishes to discuss something with him, apparently. Anyway, he might not even be out here, but that’s our job.”

“Discussing such things with an outsider is not wise,” Emry muttered mostly to himself, but Callum still tossed him a nasty glance.

“Behave, Em,” the rogue said.

“Why does this ‘Seeker lady’ want this Champion?” Dorian asked.

“I don’t know – she didn’t say. She just said she really needed to find him and so far she hadn’t had any luck tracking down his friends or him, and she’s getting a little desperate.”

Dorian released a slow breath and nodded. “Very well.”

Callum flashed him a quick smile. “That’s the spirit. Tonight we’ll rest and tomorrow we will begin our search. The wildlife here should leave us alone if we leave them alone – we won’t be going near the dragon’s island, and a lot of the creatures are content to live and let live.”

“Dragon?” Dorian echoed, staring at the rogue. “There’s a _dragon_ here?”

As if summoned by his question, a mighty roar was heard from somewhere high in the sky, far above and yet near enough to see. They all turned their heads to see a dragon flying through the sky seemingly without a care in the world, massive wings flapping to gain height and velocity, before it disappeared again into the fog surrounding the area, brought on by the seemingly ever-present storm.

“Dragon,” Dorian said again, staring after the beast. “ _Dragon_.”

“Yes,” Callum said cheerily. “Have you never seen one before?”

“I’ve never had a desire to see one before,” Dorian corrected with a scowl. “Who would want to fight such a beast?” And then he narrowed his eyes inquisitively. “Have you?”

“Have I had a desire to fight a dragon, or have I personally fought one?”

“Either. Both.”

“Who doesn’t dream of all the glory of slaying a dragon? But, no, I can’t say I want to fight one, really. Nor have I ever done so. As long as they don’t harm me, I have no intention of harming them.”

It seemed a decent enough response, and Dorian nodded, looking back in the direction the dragon had gone.

Callum clapped a hand to his shoulder, and Dorian glanced at him to find the rogue smirking at him. “Don’t worry, Dori,” Callum said, copper-green eyes aglow, “I’ll protect you.”

Dorian scowled again. “Yes, I’m sure you would make a nice appetizer while I make my escape.”

Callum laughed even as he pouted, which really ruined the effect. “You would leave me to the dragon?”

“You are impossible,” Dorian sighed, shaking his head.

“I think you mean _amazing_ ,” the rogue corrected. “Isn’t that right, Emry?” He glanced over his shoulder at the elf who had been quiet this whole time, silently watching the two of them. Now sunset eyes glanced their way and the elf’s features twisted into a scowl.

“Don’t drag me into this,” Emry muttered.

“Well, _fine_ , Mr. Grumpy,” Callum replied.

Dorian shook his head even as he quietly smirked to himself.

xXx

Night at the Storm Coast was filled with the sounds of the night wildlife. Coos, growls, hoots – anything and everything Callum typically associated with night. As a kid it once frightened him when they traveled somewhere and were outside at night in the wilderness, though that did seldom happen. Now it only felt natural after traveling all the time.

He almost felt at home with these night sounds.

He sat poking at the fire in the wake of the latest rainstorm, trying to keep it alive. The dying embers still slowly faded, though, and soon it would be gone. It was getting colder out, the winter months taking over in the wake of the hot months.

A tent flap opened and he glanced over to find Dorian emerging from his tent. The mage yawned, rubbed at his eyes, and then focused on Callum as he joined him by the fire.

“I can take over, if you wish,” Dorian offered. One of them still tried to always be awake to alert the others of nearby danger. It had been a while since Dorian was with them, though.

“That’s okay,” Callum said, shaking his head. “You look tired.”

“Yes, well… I am unused to traveling so much,” Dorian said with a small shrug, looking toward the dying, flickering flames.

“It grows on you.”

“Yes, like a bad back.”

Callum smirked and shook his head. “Could you not sleep?”

“Not really,” the mage replied. “I feel as though if I close my eyes we will be eaten by a bear, or a dragon.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Callum said. “You’re paranoid.”

“Yes, perhaps. But then – you are awake as well, so perhaps we are two of a pair, you and I.”

Callum chuckled quietly and turned his focus back toward the flickering flames clinging to life, licking at air. Fire had always been fascinating to him. As a kid he dreamed of becoming a mage so that he could conjure fire and manipulate it, but of course all of that was wishful thinking. Now that he was older, he knew fire was very dangerous – and was great at covering up secret murders, such as that of an entire family.

“Something on your mind?”

“Hmm?” he hummed absently.

“If you stare at that fire any more, it might develop a complex.”

He blinked a few times, the afterimage of the flames playing behind his eyelids before he turned his gaze back toward Dorian, who sat next to him on the still damp ground, watching him carefully.

“I’m fine,” Callum said with a disarming smile. “Just thinking.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind,” Dorian said quietly, all humor and jokes aside.

Callum nodded slowly. “Yes, it is past time for questions, I’m sure. I’m surprised you haven’t bombarded me with them before now.”

“Trust me, I’ve wanted to,” Dorian sighed, mostly to himself, before he shook his head. “You are a mercenary, yes?”

“Kind of. We don’t really have a set title.”

“Oh. I see. So are you an assassin?”

“You think I am only hired to kill people, and yet here we are, looking for information and not murder.”

Dorian went quiet for a brief moment, before he nodded slowly. “How did you get into such a nasty business?”

“Nasty?”

“Oh – I did not mean to offend.”

“You didn’t,” Callum said, amused at the way the mage quickly backtracked, and Dorian scowled at him. “It is nasty business. Before you ask, I’d rather not have to kill people if I didn’t have to, but I make sure everyone is guilty, or attacking me first, before I end their life. I do not kill innocents and I try not to kill without cause.”

Dorian thought on this for a moment, before he nodded again. “Very well. How did you get into such work?”

“That’s… a long story,” Callum said quietly, looking away.

Becoming an assassin, of sorts, was not his first choice, but in the end it was the decision that stuck, and now he couldn’t imagine his life any differently.

“I don’t want to talk about that right now,” he said, offering Dorian a quick glance. “Sorry.”

“Very well,” Dorian said again. “Perhaps another time?”

“Maybe.”

The two sat in silence for a long moment, before Dorian yawned loudly.

“You should try to get some more sleep,” Callum suggested. “We leave at dawn to begin our search.”

“Yes, and your friend will berate me if I am too tired to keep up,” Dorian sighed, pushing to his feet, moving quietly back toward his tent. He paused outside of it, looking back at Callum. The fire cast orange shadows over the contours of his face, leaving his whiskey brown eyes aglow. “Do get some rest yourself, by the way.”

“I will,” Callum promised with a smile. “Sleep, Dorian.”

“Yes – good advice, that.”

With that, the mage returned inside of his tent, and Callum’s gaze slid back toward the flames once more.

xXx

“I don’t know if you should be up there,” Dorian cautioned the rogue who climbed up a cliffside on half-steady rocks instead of walking alongside Emry and Dorian like a normal person, on flat, solid ground.

_He is going to kill himself one of these days. Surely he is not this careless all the time._

Callum did make it look easy, though, he had to admit, balancing without a care on rocks most would be rather wary of approaching for fear they would give way and send one plummeting to inevitable injury or worse.

“He always does this,” Emry said with a shrug. “He’s fine. Quit your worrying.”

“I am not worried,” Dorian protested with a scowl.

Emry snorted and shook his head, and Dorian glanced back upwards at Callum above them. The rogue grinned down at them and gestured for them to keep moving forward.

“Possible remains of a campsite ahead,” the rogue called down to them.

There were certain advantages to being up so high, of course. Dorian would never doubt that, but the rocks were unstable, giving way and crumbling in some places, little tiny rocks breaking way under Callum’s feet to rain down below. Or maybe that was Dorian’s fear of heights talking; he had never been fond of them. Falling and coming to injury or worse was not something he found particularly tempting.

When they reached the campsite – and Callum managed to slide down the rocks to join them again – they realized that it was indeed a campsite, abandoned perhaps only a few hours ago as it appeared rather new. Callum grinned and slapped Emry on the back, leaving the elf to scowl after him as he again took to the rocks and Dorian again watched him climb ever higher.

Rogues were fascinating in their own right, he decided. It wasn’t that they simply used daggers or stealth – no, it was the simple way they moved, so different from the rest of Thedas, it seemed. They seemed so light on their feet. Warriors often used their weight and movements to their advantage, throwing their weight into their attacks, into every step so that their opponents would know of the might behind their swing. Mages used various methods but ultimately they were waving sticks at enemies and summoning spells; their weight and movements rarely factored into anything, at least not very much that he had noticed around his peers or in his own studies.

Rogues, though… They were in a league all their own.

Each careful footstep was followed by the careful swaying up upper body limbs to stay perfectly balanced along the rocks the higher Callum climbed, keeping a sharp eye out for any danger or further means of information, like perhaps another campsite or other people out here along the Storm Coast.

Dorian had to admit, the Storm Coast had its own sort of unique beauty. The sea waves were brilliant in their own light, white caps and massive waves and all. The sea air was supposed to be good for people, as well, or so he had been told. If he grew up outside of Tevinter, and wasn’t potentially searching for a fight – because who knew what they would find if they came across any leads – he might enjoy it all, but at the moment he found himself missing his hut more and more.

Small, plain, and simple, but it was home and he found he rather missed it, more than he thought he would have.

 _A few more days,_ he told himself as they continued walking. _A few more days and you can return home._

It was so odd to think of that hut as home – he had rarely ever thought of his family’s home in Tevinter as _home_ , and yet one simple hut seemed to earn that title far better than there. He wasn’t sure what to think of that.

What truly qualified as a home, though?

_Somewhere you feel you belong, and feel safe._

That was an adequate definition.

_Is it sad I feel like I belong more at the hut than I ever did in Tevinter?_

It was truly amazing how much could change in a few months. He never could have pictured this life for himself half a year ago.

And now…

“There,” Callum called from above them, and the sound of rocks sliding left Dorian glancing over to find Callum rejoining them again, sliding down the edge of all of those badly placed rocks. He was all quick movements with light limbs, easily avoiding damage as his feet went flat on the ground once more. “Just ahead.”

Dorian nodded, and the three walked in silence up over a hill and around a large boulder.

A moment later the air was on fire as a fireball was ignited not far away from them, nearly singeing his hair as he quickly jumped back. What was truly odd, though, was the fact his hand immediately reached for Callum to yank him back and away from danger as well. Odd, because he couldn’t remember demanding his hand to do such a thing.

Odd, because Callum didn’t follow.

Instead he spun, his fingers catching on air, to find the rogue no longer beside him.

There was this sudden lurching in his chest and this sinking _something_ he didn’t particularly like, and he quickly looked around to find the rogue a few paces behind him, with a large broadsword pointed at his throat.

An elf wielded that sword with a steady hand and firm grip, that of a fighter, a warrior. Strange white markings could be seen along the elf’s skin on his arms, and his white hair stood out in contrast against his darker, olive skin, hair as white as the markings on his arms. While the warrior’s back was to Dorian, he could almost hear the growl in that deep, baritone voice.

“State your business,” snapped the elf. “And do not think to try anything – I will not hesitate to kill you.”

“Now, now, Fenris, we really should at least see what these nice men have to say,” came another voice, and Dorian looked around to find a man stepping from the shadows granted by the trees to stand in front of them. He had dark brunette hair with a certain reddish tinge in the sunlight, but his skin was pale. Dark rings hung under pale blue eyes.

“We’re not looking for a fight,” Callum said quietly. Dorian looked back toward him but the rogue kept his gaze focused on the face of the elven warrior in front of him, palms held out, open, unthreatening. “We merely wished to talk.”

“Talk,” muttered the elf, Fenris. “I do not believe you.”

“It’s true,” Dorian found himself saying before he could stop himself.

The elf stiffened and twisted enough to toss Dorian a quick glare over his shoulder, blade never faltering from being aligned with Callum’s neck. In that glare Dorian caught sight of dark green eyes under the veil of white hair.

“Fenris,” said the second man again, quietly, calmly, as he stepped closer toward the group, “if they wanted to attack us they would have tried by now.”

“Let them try,” snapped the elf. “They will not succeed.”

“We mean you no harm,” Callum said. “We were just looking for someone.”

“Oh? And who do you search for along the coast?”

“I search for a mage.”

The atmosphere seemed to grow rather tense after that. Dorian could almost feel it thickening, tightening, becoming more uncomfortable. He took in a breath and glanced at Emry, but the elf had yet to look away from the second man.

Dorian remembered the fireball then.

“You’re a mage,” he said aloud before he could stop himself, looking at the second man.

The elf in front of Callum snarled then and rounded, swinging his sword around until the tip was pointed instead at Dorian.

“If you go near him,” hissed that deep voice, “it will not end well for you.”

“Whoa, take it easy,” Callum said quickly, stepping closer to them. “We just want to talk, okay? Here, I’ll even start – Hello! My name’s Callum. And you are?”

“Not interested.”

Callum released a huff. “Well, _fine_. Look, I’m searching for a mage who was said to be out in these parts. Goes by the name of Hawke, I believe.”

If the atmosphere could physically crackle, it would be doing so right about now, Dorian was sure.

Instead Fenris’ eyes flashed, narrowing further, and the second man released a quiet laugh.

“Nice to know I’m wanted, I suppose,” he said.

“Wait,” Emry said, frown evident in his voice. “Are you…?”

The man flashed them a tired smile. “I’m Hawke.”


	8. The Wounded Hawke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure about this chapter... but oh well, here it is xD Still playing with the timeline and events and everything. Thoughts?

Chapter Seven: The Wounded Hawke

 

“So you’re Hawke,” Callum said, eying the mage who seemed a little worse for wear.

The man smiled faintly. “Caleb Hawke, at your service.”

“You’re a hard man to find.”

“Not hard enough, it seems,” replied Hawke. “Fenris – it’s alright, they don’t seem like they will attack us.”

The elf had kept his blade pointed firmly at Dorian’s throat this whole time. Finally he sneered and relaxed his grip, allowing the tip of the blade to drop toward the ground. He walked back toward Hawke, never turning his back on the three of them, sharp green eyes narrowed behind the veil of white hair.

The elf had this sort of exotic look to him. In truth Callum thought all elves looked like that in a way – at least, he always found them interesting. This particular elf had unique markings much like the vallaslin the Dalish had, but these were more prominent and didn’t bright, and didn’t just cover his face and neck. They were curling along his arms too. Callum assumed they traveled across his whole body.

_Interesting._

“Are you well?” Dorian asked suddenly, and Callum shook the thoughts away to refocus on the situation at hand. Fenris seemed to tense up further while Hawke merely sighed, seemingly sagging a little more, using his staff for balance.

He did look tired, and pale, with rings around his blue eyes.

“I’ve a bit of an infection,” the mage replied finally. “A Templar didn’t agree with me.”

“Templars can be tricky,” Dorian agreed.

“So you’re sick?” Emry asked.

“I’ll be fine,” Hawke said, shaking his head. “Just need rest, is all. That’s why we’re here. Why are you searching for me?”

“A Seeker is very interested in finding you,” Callum replied, and Fenris’ eyes narrowed further. “She paid a lot of coin for us to search for you, or information regarding you.”

“Well… I supposed it’s nice I fetch a high price,” Hawke replied with a tired smirk. “Forgive me if I don’t trust you, though. Even if you _are_ traveling with a mage of your own.”

“Not just any mage,” the elf spat distastefully, glaring at Dorian. “He is from Tevinter.”

“Yes,” Dorian replied, shock in his voice. “I am, originally. I have been away from there for some time.”

“Magister,” Fenris muttered.

“I am a mage from Tevinter but I am not part of the Magisterium,” Dorian replied with a touch of irritation. “I know you people from the south like to use the terms interchangeably, but that just makes you seem obtuse like barbarians.”

“I am no barbarian.”

“I did not – you misunderstand,” Dorian sighed, shaking his head. “This is getting us nowhere. Let us start over. Hello, my name is Dorian.”

“Tevinter is a touchy subject for Fen here,” Hawke said.

“The Seeker only wishes to speak with you,” Callum said, getting them back on track, attempting to waylay any potential confrontations. “She means you no harm.”

“Yes, well… the thing is, I’m afraid I’m in no condition to travel,” Hawke said quietly, sagging further, leaning more heavily against his staff. He looked ready to collapse.

Fenris seemed to think so as well because that angry expression on his face finally left revealing that it was not, in fact, his natural expression, and gave way to this contorted look of worry. He slipped closer to Hawke’s side, finally tearing his gaze away from the three of them to focus solely on the mage, deeming them not a threat. His hand steadied the dark haired mage with a simple touch, and Hawke offered the elf a quick smile.

“I’m fine.”

“You are not well,” Fenris replied.

“Perhaps we could take a look at this injury, or infection?” Callum suggested. “We are no healers, but we do know a few things about first aid.”

“We need no help from the likes of _you_ ,” Fenris muttered, tossing him a quick glare, but almost immediately his gaze went back to Hawke, and Callum could notice the affection in that look. Mostly hidden, but definitely there.

_Something is going on between those two._

He almost smirked at the thought, but things were serious, as Hawke did look rather ill. Looking closer he could make out the bandaging beneath the light armor and clothes the mage wore, the bandaging causing places to bulge slightly.

“How long have you been ill?” he asked.

“A few days,” Hawke answered.

“And it is just getting worse?”

“What business is it of yours?” Fenris asked. “You need to leave.”

Callum rolled his eyes. “Infections can be quite serious, you know, and he seems close to collapse, as you have no doubt noticed. Are you willing to risk him getting worse even if we might be able to help him?”

Fenris hesitated, indecision clear in his gaze as he glanced from Hawke to them and back to Hawke again. Hawke shrugged and gestured for them to follow him as he turned and led the way through the trees. After a few minutes of walking they entered a partially hidden area, half covered with a curved cliffside which provided them a small roof, the rest of the area surrounded in trees and bushes, giving them a bit of cover with only one way into the area.

Hawke eased onto the ground with a tired sigh, Fenris hovering over him. Callum walked toward the two of them and Hawke hitched up the side of his shirt to reveal the thick bandaging around his abdomen.

“What happened?” Emry asked as he joined them, Dorian just behind the elf.

“Templars,” Hawke said again. “They’ve been hunting me since…” There he trailed off with a quick glance at the three of them, chewing quietly on his lower lip, a trait Callum was familiar with.

“We know what happened at Kirkwall,” Callum said quietly, kneeling next to the mage while Dorian and Emry stood around them, Fenris on Hawke’s other side, still quietly glaring at the three of them. “We know you are the Champion of Kirkwall. We know why you are hunted. You need not explain it to us.”

Hawke’s features relaxed a little, though he still looked exhausted and pale with a slight flush to his cheeks hinting at fever as the infection ran rampant within him. “Yes, well, a Templar’s blade had a disagreement with my stomach, you see. The wound was large but not deep. I bandaged it and thought nothing of it until later.”

“Symptoms?”

“Fever, nausea, can’t sleep but I’m always tired,” Hawke replied, shaking his head slowly.

“All this travel isn’t helping,” Fenris added quietly.

“But it’s necessary,” Hawke said, glancing at the white-haired elf. “Staying in one place is… dangerous.” He took in a slow breath, still watching Fenris, sadness in his gaze. “I’m sorry to force you to run again. You shouldn’t have to do so. You should leave.”

“I am not going anywhere,” Fenris all but snapped, settling the injured mage with a quick glare. “We have discussed this already and my answer isn’t changing.”

Hawke smiled weakly. “Ever the loyal friend,” he said softly.

Callum’s fingers prodded the bandaging then, causing the mage to stiffen and hiss in pain, which left the elf snarling quietly.

“Examine the wound if you _must_ , but do _not_ harm him,” Fenris growled.

“Calm down,” Callum said. “I need to take the bandaging off. Dorian, do you know anything of healing magic?”

Dorian was quiet for a moment, seemingly surprised he was being addressed, before he stepped forward and knelt next to Callum as Hawke’s fingers slowly began to unwind the bandaging from his middle.

“I would not have had to send for a healer when you were injured if I knew much about it,” Dorian replied quietly. “I will try my best, though. My specialty is with dead things, you see, not the living.”

“Well, let’s try not to let it get familiar, then,” Hawke said weakly.

“Hurt him, mage, and I will not hesitate to end you,” Fenris warned.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure you dislike me and everything, but please keep the threats to a minimum, if you could,” Dorian said, tossing Fenris a withering glare. “We are trying to help, not hurt.”

“Emry – do we have anything that might help?” Callum asked, glancing at his elven friend.

“Bandages and some poultices but nothing substantial,” Emry replied. “We did not expect conflict, remember? We packed lightly.”

This was very true.

“We have more at camp, though, right?” Callum asked.

“Yes,” Emry said with a nod. “It’s not too far. I can head there and grab it if you want.”

“Yes, but be careful,” Callum said. “I know how terrible your sense of direction can be.”

Emry rolled his eyes, turning away from the group. “Same to you, Cal.”

“Be swift, princess.”

Emry snorted and disappeared around a corner, through the trees and the rock wall, and Callum glanced at Dorian to find the mage watching him with a quirked brow.

“What?”

“Princess?” Dorian asked.

“Oh, right – I guess I haven’t called him that around you yet,” Callum said with a smirk.

“That is all well and good, but if you are not going to help, then leave,” Fenris said.

Callum took in a slow breath. It was obvious the elf was on edge, so he would forgive the rude, frosty behavior for now, but the constant hostility grew tiresome. Who knew this job would get so complicated? He wasn’t even sure they could help Hawke. He would probably need a healer, depending how bad the infection was, and there were no healers to be found on the Storm Coast. Traveling in search of one could do the mage more harm than good.

Hawke tossed his bandaging aside, finally giving Callum a clear look at the wound. He winced at the raw, puffiness around the edges, oozing puss, clearly infected, and quite badly. The wound wasn’t deep, as Hawke said, but the infection was worrisome.

“How long’s it been like this?”

“Almost a week,” Hawke said. “We’ve been traveling. Haven’t been able to just… stop and rest, until now.”

“I’m sorry,” Callum said, biting his lower lip for a moment. “I don’t think I can help you. We can try to fight the infection but I think you need a healer.”

“Yes,” Hawke sighed, slouching further in defeat, “that’s what I thought, as well.”

“Dorian? Can you do anything?”

“My healing magic is terrible,” Dorian said. “That’s why I prefer dead things, you see. I don’t… I will do what I can, but I agree, he needs a healer, not a necromancer.”

“Necromancer,” Callum repeated, staring at Dorian, for this was the first he was hearing about this. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Fenris cut in. “If you can’t help, then leave.”

Callum tossed a scowl at the elf. “This infection is bad, and it’s only going to get worse.”

Fenris glared back at him, but the worry was clear in his gaze. His anger was merely a façade to hide his true feelings behind. Callum took a calming breath; lashing out at the elf for his rudeness, when he did it out of his own fear, would not help anyone and would cause only more animosity.

“I’ve seen wounds like this before,” Callum said slowly, making sure everyone was listening to how serious this was, “and it’s never ended well.”

“Oh, joy,” Hawke said. “Here I thought things might finally go right for a change. How wrong I was!”

“What are you saying?” Fenris asked, narrowed eyes watching Callum.

“He could die,” Callum stated firmly, holding the elf’s gaze, watching the slight widening of dark green eyes. “I know that’s not what you want to hear but it’s the truth. Dorian?”

“I agree,” Dorian said quietly.

“Well… it’s not the blaze of glory I pictured,” Hawke sighed, leaning his head back against the rock wall behind him.

“What do we do?” Fenris asked quietly, the anger dispersing.

“There are no healers along the Storm Coast,” Callum replied, shaking his head. “And this infection is bad. You’ll have to come with us while we search for one.”

“Oh, more travel,” Hawke said flatly. “Great.”

“Sorry,” Callum said. “It’s the only way. You’ll just get worse if you stay here, and who knows how long it will take us to find one and come back. You could be dead by then.”

Hawke sighed heavily, pale blue eyes falling closed. “Well… perhaps that is the way it must be.”

“What?” Fenris snapped.

“I’m tired.”

“We’re _all_ tired,” Callum said, narrowing his eyes at the injured mage. “That is no reason to give up! I know it’s probably been hard for you since Kirkwall, but that’s no reason to quit.”

“You will not quit,” Fenris said. “I will not allow it.”

Hawke sighed again, blinking his eyes open to peer at the elf with a slight smile. “Stubborn as always, elf?”

“If I must be, mage.”

He gave into a slight chuckle and nodded, looking back at Callum. “Very well. I will travel with you, but I warn you, I’m not going anywhere until I sleep for a while. I’m so tired it hurts to think.”

“I could knock you out,” Dorian offered, and then backtracked when Fenris tossed him a glare. “With a spell, I mean. So you can sleep, since you said you were having trouble.”

Hawke nodded slowly. “Yes… I think I might take you up on that offer, actually.”

“Do not trust this mage,” Fenris said. “He is from _Tevinter_.”

“Yes, yes, so I _must_ be evil,” Dorian muttered, tossing a glare toward the elf.

Callum sighed. “Please – we don’t need to be arguing right now. Dorian, do as Hawke asks. Fenris, back off and give him room to work, or Maker help me, I _will_ start to get angry.”

“So you will attack me? That is the kind of help you offer?” Fenris snapped.

“No, it’s _not_. But you are starting to annoy me. We’re trying to help – or do you _want_ him to die?”

That shut Fenris up, as he closed his mouth and narrowed his eyes further at Callum, but said nothing, stepping back a little to give Dorian room to work. Dorian slid closer to Hawke and worked his magic on him while Callum kept an eye on Fenris. When Callum looked back down at the mages, Hawke was sound asleep and Dorian was standing up.

“He’ll sleep for a few hours,” he said.

Callum nodded. “That will give Emry plenty of time to return, and to do what we can for him before we leave.” He looked back at Fenris. “Or do you have a problem with that?”

“I trust no mage from Tevinter.”

“What is your problem with Tevinter?” Dorian asked, frowning at Fenris.

Fenris glared a little more. “You are a mage from Tevinter. That is enough.”

“So you have an issue with mages?” Dorian asked. “That seems odd considering your friend _is a mage_.”

Fenris’ eyes flashed angrily. “Leave Hawke out of this.”

“So you care for a mage,” Dorian all but hummed, “interesting.”

“Hawke is not like _you_ ,” Fenris said firmly. “He is a good man.”

“And I’m… what? An utter bastard?”

“You said it,” Callum couldn’t help but laugh, “not me.”

Dorian threw him a nasty look before his gaze returned to Fenris. “Well?”

“You are from-”

“Tevinter, _yes_ , so you’ve said,” Dorian muttered. “What is your deal with my homeland?”

“I care nothing for your homeland. It’s the occupants I dislike.”

“Such as?”

“You mages.”

“But you’re _with_ a mage,” Dorian protested.

“He is not a blood mage.”

“And neither am I!”

“So you say.”

“I’m not!” Dorian said, sounding utterly appalled. There was a story behind that – why he seemed to hate blood magic so, but now was not the time to ask.

It was, however, time to stop this argument from escalating.

“That spell Dorian cast isn’t perfect,” he said, causing them both to look at him. “Hawke _can_ wake up. So go ahead – wake him! I’m sure it will in _no way_ harm it at all, yes? It’s not like he _needs_ the rest or anything.”

Instantly shame covered Fenris’ face and he lowered his gaze to the ground. Dorian averted his eyes, too, seemingly embarrassed for having been caught in a near-shouting match. The sight was humorous, but this was serious.

“Fenris, you can hate Dorian all you want,” Callum said, “but I will not have everyone fighting. We need to trust each other for now. We don’t have to like each other. But we are doing this to help Hawke.”

“What do you care if he’s ill?” Fenris asked, but the anger was gone from his voice, leaving it soft and weak, though deep still it was. “You don’t know him.”

“I don’t have to know him,” Callum replied. “And I do have an investment. I was hired to find him. It goes without saying I keep him alive.”

Those green eyes narrowed again. “So you plan to turn him into the Templars when he’s well again?”

“ _No_ ,” Callum said firmly. “Have you not been listening? I am not helping the Templars. I was hired, by a _Seeker_ , who wants to simply _talk_ to Hawke. No, I don’t know what about, but she paid a lot of coin so it must be important.”

“So _she_ can turn him into the Templars, then.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“Why do you care?”

“I’m not siding with the Templars, just as I’m not siding with the mages in this crazy war,” Callum said, frowning. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to turn anyone into Templars out for revenge. Like I said, she just wants to _talk_. If she tries to hurt him, I’ll stop her. _We’ll_ stop her.” This final bit he said gesturing at the three of them – Fenris, Dorian, and himself. “Is that good enough for you?”

“Very well,” Fenris said after a moment of hesitation. “It’s not like we have much choice but to trust you. But I warn you now – try to harm him and I will _end you_.”

Callum smiled. “Sounds fair.”

“Oh, sure,” Dorian muttered, “the promise of certain death is just perfectly fine.”

“Now, now, children,” Callum sighed, attempting to ward off another verbal battle which could turn into a physical fight between the two, “play nice.”

“I will if he does,” Dorian said.

Fenris tossed him a glare but said nothing, instead kneeling next to Hawke again.

xXx

Finding a healer proved to be rather tricky. All the apostates, and harrowed mages of the Circles, were fleeing for their lives, or engaging Templars in battle. They were in hiding now more than ever. No one would admit to even _knowing_ a healer mage, let alone actually being one.

Four days later and they still hadn’t found anyone to help them.

By this point Hawke could not keep any food down, and was barely awake at all. They kept him settled between Fenris and Emry while Callum and Dorian led the way, but by this point Dorian was beginning to doubt their odds.

By the sixth day they were desperate.

It was agonizing, watching someone in pain but being unable to do anything about it. Not for the first time he wished he was a healer instead of a necromancer. Watching Hawke struggle to breathe through the fever and pain was terrible, especially for Fenris.

While Dorian and Fenris still didn’t quite get along, they no longer argued as they did in the beginning. Instead Fenris had gone rather quiet, speaking only to Hawke when the mage was awake, and occasionally to Callum about which way they should go and where they should camp, where it would be best for Hawke to rest.

“If he dies,” Fenris threatened on the sixth evening, staring at Callum over Hawke’s fever-ridden form as the mage twisted uncomfortably in his sleep, “… if he dies… I will kill you!”

“Why?” Dorian asked. “It’s not our fault.”

“It is!” Fenris snapped, jaw clenched, teeth grinding together as he spoke. “We were fine alone on the Storm Coast, _resting_ , and you made us travel! You made him travel! It is your fault!”

“Calm down,” Callum said. “We’re doing all we can, okay? He would have gotten worse no matter what. We need to find a healer.”

“So you keep saying,” Fenris muttered. “And yet he worsens!”

Callum cast Dorian a glance and nodded off to the side. Dorian nodded, and followed the rogue off to the side for a private conversation away from the elves and the unconscious mage.

“He’s dying,” Callum said quietly.

“Yes, I thought as much,” Dorian sighed, shaking his head. He didn’t know Hawke well – in fact had barely spoken to him at all – but he did not wish death on him. He did not wish to watch someone slowly die, which was what he was doing now, and it was terrible, feeling so completely useless.

He could only imagine what it was like for Fenris – watching a dear friend wither and die while he sat idly by unable to do anything or help in any way.

The elf’s anger was understandable. It was a stage of grief.

He only wished they could do more.

“I heard a rumor in town today,” Callum said.

Callum and Emry went into the nearby town while Hawke, Fenris, and Dorian stayed behind in their camp in the woods, with Hawke too weak to travel at all right now. Their window of time was quickly dwindling.

“What was this rumor?” he asked, knowing Callum wouldn’t have brought it up if it wasn’t important.

“There’s a rumor there’s a healer a day’s walk from here,” said the rogue.

“That’s great,” Dorian said.

“Yes – except even _if_ the rumor is true, and even _if_ we find them, that’s at _least_ two days. I don’t know if Hawke has that kind of time.”

Dorian’s stomach dropped a little. “Oh. Yes,” he said slowly. “That… is a problem.”

Watching a man’s life dwindle down to mere hours or days was the worst, he was certain. A few days ago Hawke had been chatty – tired, but willing to talk and joke a little. Then slowly he stopped joking, his answers turning into one-syllable responses, before he just stopped talking all around, and he was barely awake now. He hadn’t eaten in days, and he was dehydrated from throwing up so much.

It was bad.

“I was… I don’t want to tell Fenris,” Callum said. “I know that sounds terrible, but I don’t want to get his hopes up if I’m wrong. I was just… I was going to leave for this healer tonight. I’ll travel faster on my own, so maybe that will cut off some of the travel time.”

“That sounds dangerous,” Dorian cautioned, frowning as he already disliked this plan. “And lying to Fenris doesn’t sound like a bright idea.”

“I know – but he’d only demand to come with me, and he needs to stay with Hawke in case…” Callum hesitated, and then sighed. “Well, just _in case_.”

“Very well,” Dorian sighed. “What are you going to tell him, then? He’s going to notice you’re gone.”

“Tell him I’m looking for herbs or whatever, just… keep him with Hawke, and… do what you can for him,” Callum said quietly. “It’s obvious the two of them are very close. I get the sense they are all each other has right now.”

“Yes,” Dorian said with a nod.

“So just… do what you can for Hawke. I know you’re not a healer, but… you’re better than nothing. I just need you to… try to keep him alive for a little longer, while I search,” Callum said.

“I will do my best,” Dorian promised. “And you need to be careful. It won’t do for any of us if you die on the way.”

The mere thought put a knot in his stomach. He blamed it on the fact someone’s life was potentially in his hands while Callum was away, and that thought was rather daunting. Not to mention the fact Callum _might not return_ , if something happened to him…

“I’ll be fine,” Callum promised. “And quick as a cat.”

“Fine,” Dorian sighed. “I know I can’t change your mind. Do be careful, though.”

“I will. Take care of everyone.”

“I will,” Dorian said quietly.

_Just make sure you take care of yourself as well._

xXx

“It’s been _days_ ,” Fenris snapped, hovering worriedly over Hawke as the mage still lay limply on the ground. “He won’t eat, he won’t drink, he won’t _wake_ , and your _friend_ is Maker knows where!”

_He has a point._

It had been nearly three days since Callum left, and Hawke was close to death. Dorian did what he could for the mage, but at this point he was just trying to keep him comfortable, which meant mostly keeping him unconscious so he wouldn’t feel the pain of his organs shutting down on him, from the infection.

“This is all your fault,” Fenris continued. “We were _fine_ on our own, he was _resting_ , and-”

“Arguing with us isn’t going to help him,” Emry pointed out, and it was one of the rare times he and Dorian actually agreed on something. “Placing blame won’t help, either.”

“Where is your friend? Why has he disappeared?”

“I… don’t know,” Emry said quietly, and Dorian knew Callum hadn’t told him of his plans to find a healer. Dorian wanted to tell him but at this point – he wasn’t sure what good it would do. Emry might let it slip to Fenris who would either become angrier or have false hope. Emry might also try to go after Callum. Dorian wasn’t sure what excuse Callum had given Emry, then.

“So he might be dead for all we know,” Fenris said solemnly.

“Don’t say that,” Emry said, glaring at the other elf. “I’m sure he’s on his way back now. He went for herbs to help _your friend_.”

“It does not take days to find herbs when we are surrounded by trees!” Fenris snapped. “Either he has betrayed you and vanished or he is dead.”

“That’s enough,” Dorian said, speaking for the first time in what felt like forever. For the most part he’d been focused on trying to help Hawke as best he could but now it was clear he had their attention. “Callum wouldn’t run off on us.”

“Then he is dead.”

“He’s not dead, you cold-blooded-” Emry started.

“ _Enough_ ,” Dorian snapped. “While you bicker like children, Hawke is dying. Either help make him comfortable or leave, because I will _not_ have you disturbing him.”

Fenris’ shoulders slumped, his eyes wide and dark, a look Dorian knew was fear and despair mixed together. “So that’s it, then. He’s just…”

“I don’t know what else I can do for him,” Dorian said quietly. “I’m very sorry, Fenris. He seemed a good man from the short time I knew him.”

“This is not… This is not _fair_ ,” Fenris muttered, turning away from everyone, including the motionless Hawke on the ground. “Qunari, mages, Templars… and _this_ is to be how it ends?”

“I’m sorry,” Dorian said again.

Footsteps approached, then, and everyone stiffened as they glanced in the direction the sound came from. Emry readied his bow while Fenris hefted his mighty sword.

Callum stumbled into the clearing, then, eyes quickly searching for Dorian. “Tell me he’s alive,” he said breathlessly, clearly having been running.

“He lives,” Dorian said quietly, feeling oddly _relieved_ at Callum’s sudden reappearance. For a short time… he had begun to doubt… but the rogue was fine, and that was all that mattered. “I don’t know for how much longer, though.”

“He’s alive,” Callum called over his shoulder.

Dorian’s eyes widened. “You found a healer after all?”

“A _healer_?” Emry and Fenris asked as one.

A man with dark blonde hair, past his shoulders, entered the clearing then. Immediately orange-brown eyes sought the wounded figure on the ground and he rushed to his side even as Fenris snarled.

“ _Anders_?”


	9. Of Healing and Haven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this chapter is a bit all over the place - I've had a bad headache all day and I'm still not feeling well. I'm still playing with the timeline, so xD It's not going to be 3 years between the games like it's supposed to be. It might just be a year, two at the most. We'll see, depending on how long I want to spread this out for and everything. Thanks for all the comments and kudos and bookmarks, you guys! That's awesome! I'm happy you are enjoying it. Please continue to do so :) It makes me oh so happy.

Chapter Eight: Of Healing and Haven

 

“ _Anders_?”

“You _know_ him?” Dorian asked, frowning at the anger which flooded Fenris’ face. One would think he would be relieved there was a healer here for Hawke – not angry, almost disappointed.

“You didn’t say he was this bad,” the new mage healer, Anders, said as he quickly knelt next to Hawke, long, angled face contorted in worry as he immediately started moving his hands, healing magic surrounding his palms and flooding into the nearly dead Hawke.

Dorian did what he could for the downed mage, but he wasn’t a healer. At the most he could only attempt to make Hawke comfortable. He was relieved a healer was present now, that Callum succeeded. As the days passed and Fenris kept stating Callum either ditched them or was dead somewhere, the doubts crept into his mind like little unwanted snakes slithering about, try as he might to stop it from happening. Now he felt guilty for doubting his friend in the first place.

“I told you it was bad,” Callum said before looking at Dorian with a smile. Dorian would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy to see that smile after having those doubts. “But you kept him alive, Dorian. Good job.”

“You didn’t say you were going for a healer,” Emry said with a frown, causing Callum to turn toward him instead.

Dorian could see the hurt written across Emry’s face.

“I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up if I failed.”

“Yet you told _him_?” Emry asked, gesturing at Dorian. The tone of his voice left Dorian scowling, not that it was unexpected. He and Emry didn’t see eye-to-eye on the best of days, let alone without Callum around.

“I needed him to do what he could to keep him alive long enough.”

“And what? I couldn’t be trusted too?”

“Emry, it’s not like that,” Callum said with a frown. “I promise. Anders – can you help him?”

“I’ll help him,” Anders said determinedly.

“What are _you_ doing around here?” Fenris muttered.

“Wish that I were dead, do you?” Anders asked, not even bothering to glance at the elf.

“This is all your fault!” The anger ignited again in Fenris’ voice and across his face, an icy flame of anger and hatred and a past history Dorian knew nothing about. Somehow it almost reminded him of himself and Emry in a few years, if they continued on the path they were on now.

The thought left him scowling.

“I know,” the blonde said quietly. “But can we discuss it later? What happened, Fenris? Why did you allow this to happen?”

“I didn’t _allow-_ ” Fenris started indignantly before cutting himself off with a growl. “I did everything I could. _Help him_.”

“I will, but not for you,” Anders said.

“So he can be helped?” Emry asked. “He’s not too far gone?”

Dorian had to admit, it a question which was on his mind as well, though he didn’t dare ask it for fear of the answer. Thankfully Anders seemed rather determined and hopeful.

“He’s just barely alive,” Anders said. “I can’t believe you allowed it to get this bad, Fenris. Really – what were you thinking?”

“This is not _my_ fault, mage,” Fenris snapped. “He wouldn’t even be in danger if it weren’t for _you_.”

Dorian didn’t know about everything that happened in Kirkwall, but Fenris’ words seemed to have an impact on Anders as the healing mage went silent, focusing solely on Hawke. Callum lightly tapped a hand against Dorian’s shoulder, causing the mage to glance at him. The rogue looked tired from his journey, with rings around his copper-green eyes.

“We should give him room to work,” Callum said quietly.

“I am not leaving,” Fenris stated firmly.

“Emry?” Callum asked.

Emry nodded. “I will join you.”

Emry, Dorian, and Callum walked away, leaving Anders to his work, and Fenris to his hovering.

xXx

_That man is a miracle worker._

Hawke was alive. Resting. It was a miracle, Dorian was sure, for he thought for sure the mage would die even with Anders’ help. Instead he was resting peacefully on the ground in a deep sleep he probably needed even though he’d been out for days already. He needed food and drink but that could wait until he woke naturally.

“I can’t believe it worked,” Emry said, staring at the sleeping form of Hawke who rested easily on the ground, face no longer flushed with fever. “I can’t believe you saved him.”

“I am good at what I do,” Anders said quietly.

Fenris looked up at Anders from where he sat next to Hawke. In the hours since Anders’ arrival he had not left the downed mage’s side even once. He seemed to hesitate before he took in a slow breath, meeting Anders’ gaze. “Thank you.”

Anders seemed shocked at the gratitude in Fenris’ voice. “I didn’t do it for you,” the healer said.

“I know, but thank you.”

“He’s my friend, too.”

Fenris snorted but said nothing, returning his attention back toward Hawke. “When will he wake? He should eat and drink.”

“He won’t wake for a few more hours,” Anders replied, before looking over at Callum, who sat next to the fire, lightly prodding at the dying embers, attempting to keep them alive. The night was chilly, winter fast approaching. Dorian was not looking forward to the southern snow. “Thank you for finding me.”

“Glad I did,” Callum replied, looking at Anders. “I didn’t know you two were friends.”

“You didn’t tell me it was Hawke,” Anders said.

“Glad you came now?”

Anders went silent for a moment, a look of regret on his face.

“Was that in question?” Dorian couldn’t help but ask.

“He didn’t want to come at first,” Callum said. “He thought it was a trap since I wasn’t injured. Apparently it’s happened to him before. On the way here I mentioned Fenris, and… well, he guessed who it was then, and we hurried back. I wasn’t sure we’d make it in time.”

“I am grateful for your help,” Fenris said quietly. Dorian glanced at the elf to see him looking softly down at Hawke with the most open expression he had seen Fenris wear yet. The image left him smiling.

_Inner softness beneath rough edges._

“You’re welcome,” Callum said. “I’m happy everything worked out. So, he’ll be fine, then?”

“He should be,” Anders said with a brief nod, before hesitating slightly. “I want to stick with him for a while, just in case there’s a relapse.”

“You’re not coming with us, mage,” Fenris muttered, tossing Anders a quick glare. “This is all your fault anyway.”

“You blaming me is getting really old,” Anders said in return, glaring back at the elf. “I did what I had to do, Fenris. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“You killed innocent people and sparked a war between mages and Templars,” Fenris replied.

“Wait – _you’re_ the mage responsible?” Dorian asked, staring at the healer. This mage, this _healer_ , was responsible for the loss of so many lives? He honestly wasn’t sure what to think about that.

“I had to do something,” Anders said quietly, orange-brown eyes focused on the ground instead of at anyone in particular. “No one else was doing anything and it was just getting worse. I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.”

“So you started a war,” Fenris muttered. “Do you realize how many lives you ruined when you blew up the Chantry?”

“I _know_ ,” Anders said through gritted teeth, closing his eyes. “I know what I did. It was necessary.”

“Was it?” Fenris asked. “Or was it what your _demon_ wanted?”

“Demon?” Dorian asked, frowning, narrowing his eyes slightly. “You’re a maleficarum?”

“ _No_ ,” Anders snapped, opening his eyes to toss his glare Dorian’s way this time. “Justice wasn’t a _demon_.”

“Wasn’t,” Fenris said slowly. “He is gone?”

“He… I don’t know,” Anders replied, shaking his head. “He’s… silent. I still feel echoes of him sometimes, but… but I am alone. He is… gone, for the most part.”

“Good.”

“Justice?” Callum asked.

“A spirit of justice. I accepted him into my body as his host. But my anger, it changed him… turned him into Vengeance. I… I will admit that I might have been influenced with the Chantry. He… deemed it the only way to change things. The only way to get justice.”

“But he’s gone now?” Callum asked, poking at the fire again.

“Yes,” Anders said quietly, looking away. “I am alone.”

xXx

“I’m so bloody tired,” Hawke muttered, yawning as he rubbed at his eyes, before smiling weakly at Anders with wary cheer. “It’s good to see you, though.”

“Is it?” Anders asked timidly. “After… I-I mean… you said you never wanted to see me again.”

“I did say that, didn’t I…”

“Yes,” Fenris said. “I approved.”

“Of course you did,” Anders sighed, shaking his head, though he still appeared nervous to Callum. Nervous under Hawke’s gaze. Callum didn’t know much about this trio but he knew there was a lot of history and bad blood between them, but they were still friends, however reluctantly.

Hawke watched Anders for a long moment, then sighed and shook his head. “I’ve known you too long to hate you now. It takes too much effort to hate.”

“Do you mean…?” Hope sparked across Anders’ face briefly as Fenris scowled.

“It’s good to see you,” Hawke said again.

“You too,” Anders said, tense posture relaxing.

Callum wanted to continue to give them their moment together, a moment to catch up, but he had things he needed to discuss, so he cleared his throat, causing the trio to glance at him. Hawke still looked exhausted and Callum was tired as well after the long journey, but they really needed to be moving. The fights in the nearby town were growing worse and soon people would begin traveling this way more, and the Templars would be on their trail. Everything was a giant mess right now, with the war and everything.

“This is all very touching and everything, but I do have to ask if you plan on speaking to this Seeker.”

Hawke hesitated. “You trust her?”

“I don’t think she’ll hurt you, if that’s what you’re asking,” Callum replied.

_Trust is a strong word._

Hawke nodded. “Then I will do as you ask. I owe you that much, at least.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“You found Anders for me. Without you, I’d be dead.”

Callum shrugged. “Speak to the Seeker and we’ll call it even.”

“You’re serious?” Fenris asked, frowning. “You are going to just trust him and speak to the Seeker, who might hand you over to the Templars?”

“Callum hasn’t done a thing to hint that he’s untrustworthy, has he?” Hawke asked, glancing at Fenris, and slowly the elf shook his head albeit a little reluctantly. Callum smiled, happy to have at least earned that much of the elf’s trust. “Then I will speak to the Seeker.”

“I would like to tag along for a while,” Anders said quietly. “To make sure you’re okay.”

“Absolutely not,” Fenris said, shaking his head. “We already discussed this, mage – you are not coming with us.”

“I believe that is _Hawke’s_ decision.”

Callum nearly laughed at the helpless look Hawke shot him, clearly not wanting to get caught in the middle of an argument, and decided to take pity on him for now. He clapped his hands, regaining their attention. “Anders should stick with us for a bit – never know when a healer might come in handy. Maybe you could even teach Dorian a thing or two.”

“Unlikely,” Dorian replied from where he stood a few paces behind Callum, quietly watching the scene. Emry was somewhere behind Dorian, packing their things.

“Agreed,” Hawke said, looking relieved he didn’t have to pick a side. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Great,” Callum said, smiling. “Then let’s get packing, people – we’re losing daylight.”

xXx

Haven was a small piece of land in Fereldan. It took them a few days to get there. Not many people were staying there, as the area was small, with only a few cabins and a small Chantry on the property. Callum led the way into the area, having never been here before, surprisingly. He thought he’d been all over southern Thedas but apparently he was wrong.

They journey here took a few days but was relatively uneventful, thankfully. They came across no chaos, no Templars or mages or anything like that. Instead the most they had to worry about was Fenris and Anders killing each other. Callum had to separate the two, with Anders up front with him and Fenris in the back with Hawke, Dorian and Emry in the middle.

Dorian and Emry didn’t usually get along but thankfully they didn’t wish to be yelled at as well, and separated like children, so they remained silent, not speaking to each other at all. Callum chatted civilly with Anders and learned more about Justice and Kirkwall, and his friendship with Hawke and rivalry with Fenris. It reminded Callum of Emry and Dorian in a way, which made him smirk.

The Seeker lady was waiting for them eagerly when they strolled into the Chantry. She hurried toward them in her Seeker armor with the Inquisition symbol. Callum wasn’t even certain how he recognized it as Inquisition, but it rang a despondent cord through him, making him remember warm nights by the fire when he was a child, sitting atop his father’s knee while Bann Trevelyan read to him about the Inquisition of Old.

Feeling surprisingly more homesick than he had in a long time, he fought the urge to flee the Chantry and all the memories it brought with it. This was one of the reasons he didn’t particularly like Chantries, but not the only one.

“You followed through with your word,” the Seeker said, looking them all over. “I had my doubts, I must admit.”

“My dear lady, I would never not follow through on my word,” Callum said with a wink. “I am a gentleman, after all.”

Emry snorted behind him. Callum fought the urge to elbow him in the ribs. Thankfully Dorian did it for him – he heard the indignant huff which escaped Emry’s lips as the elbow connected with his side.

_And that’s why I love Dorian._

There he paused, faltered – _love_?

_It’s a saying. Nothing more._

Yes, that was all it was.

“I’m glad to see the coin I paid was worth it,” the Seeker lady was saying. “Forgive me for being rude – my name is Cassandra Pentaghast, right hand to the Divine.”

Callum blinked, surprised. “I didn’t know that,” he said truthfully. “It’s nice to meet you, Cassandra. My name is Callum.”

She quirked a delicate brow. “No last name?”

“Nope,” he said with a shrug. “Allow me to introduce everyone – that’s Dorian, Emry, Hawke, Fenris, and-”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Hawke cut in with a quick look at Callum, stepping forward as Cassandra’s eyes swiveled to meet his gaze.

_You don’t want her to know about Anders? Oh… right…_

That made sense. Anders was a wanted criminal, after all, even more so than any other mage. It made sense to keep his identity secret for now. Callum mentally kicked himself for not thinking of this earlier. What were they going to call Anders if they didn’t want anyone to know who he was? A downside to him traveling with them, but his talent for healing certainly overweighed that trouble, Callum was sure.

“It is nice to meet you as well,” Cassandra said, nodding at Hawke. “I must admit, I did not think you would come.”

Hawke shrugged, Fenris at his side. “I owed Callum a favor.”

“Oh?”

He nodded, leaving it at that.

“I see,” she said. “Perhaps we may speak privately?”

Fenris narrowed his eyes, clearly ready to argue, as did Anders, but Hawke nodded before either of them could protest.

“Sure,” Hawke said. “Lead the way.”

“You can’t be serious,” Fenris said.

“It’ll just be a few minutes,” Hawke said. “We’re just talking, yes?” This he addressed at Cassandra.

She nodded. “I assure you, you are in no trouble and we won’t harm you. I wish only to run something by you.”

“Run something by me?” Hawke echoed, frowning. “Uh, right. Let’s go, then.”

Fenris glowered after Hawke and Cassandra as they walked away from the group, disappearing into a room at the end of the hallway. Callum turned toward the rest of them.

“Well – I’m hungry, what about you guys?”

“Food would not be unappreciated,” Dorian said.

Callum smiled at the mage. “Excellent! Let’s find a decent meal and a place to rest. I have a feeling this might take a while.”

xXx

Callum was right, Dorian noted with a smirk as they settled around a campfire inside the Haven gates that night. The crowd gathered here, though small it was, was in cheerful spirits. Haven was quiet and peaceful for the most part – not an argument to be seen. Even he and Emry seemed to be getting along, but that could have been the ale talking, he wasn’t sure.

He was grateful for the lull in traveling and fighting and arguing, though. It grew tiresome. In Tevinter he argued all the time but arguments with Emry made little to no sense and usually left him with a headache. Even if he won the argument he felt like he lost. They didn’t have anything to argue about, but somehow they were still antagonistic, although right now things were rather pleasant.

Whatever the Seeker, Cassandra, wished to talk to Hawke about remained a mystery. The mage hadn’t spoken of it when he emerged from that room a few hours later. Fenris was allowed into the room with Hawke roughly an hour after Hawke disappeared into the room, but the rest had to wait outside.

After Hawke left the room he scurried off with a troubled expression on his face. Dorian had no idea what was said in that room but it appeared it wasn’t what Hawke wanted to hear. He didn’t wish to force the matter, though, so he kept silent while Fenris glowered at Anders over the glow of the fire. Hawke said he wanted to be alone to think about a few things and Fenris begrudgingly agreed to stay behind with the rest of them. Anders and Callum seemed to be getting along fairly well, surprisingly.

Dorian looked Anders over again. The man was tall but thin with a long, angular face. He looked haunted even with a smile. Dorian saw many faces like this back in Tevinter – but those were mostly of prisoners or slaves or something. It was an expression he knew all too well and he hated it very much. To look at Anders one wouldn’t think he was the start of the mage-Templar war, and yet he was. He blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall to start this war, killing many innocents. Then when the Knight-Commander, Meredith, tried to call for the death of all the mages in Kirkwall and the Gallows, things escalated. Now it had spread far away from Kirkwall, consuming Thedas. Dorian himself had already been attacked by Templars without cause, other than the fact he was a mage.

Anders didn’t appeared to be the monster the stories made him out to be. He had a friendly face and a kind voice, looking almost frail for a healer, gaunt and pale, but behind that appearance was the man who started the war. No matter how he tried to look at it, it all came back to that in the end, and he hated that he thought this way.

_A man should not be judged solely on his past mistakes._

It was clear a part of Anders regretted his decision to start this war, but another part of him still thought he was right. In truth, Dorian wasn’t sure what he believed. Was it truly inevitable? Did this really have to happen? But in the end it came back to those innocents killed in the Chantry, and the innocents suffering across southern Thedas because of this war.

“I’m going for a walk,” Callum announced suddenly, getting to his feet from where he previously sat near the fire. He looked around the group until his gaze landed on Dorian. “You’re welcome to join me.”

Dorian smiled. “I supposed I could do for a walk.”

_Even though we’ve been traveling for a long time…_

Emry was asleep near the fire, looking peaceful. Dorian watched as Callum knelt and carefully pulled the blanket higher across the elf’s body, taking a moment to tuck him in as though he were a child. It brought back memories of when he was little, and his mother looked at him happily, with so much love, before he crushed her plans for him to marry when he got older. Feeling homesick again, he looked away with a sigh, and waited until Callum joined him away from the fire.

The two walked out of Haven’s gates and down toward the lake. The air was chilly, especially near the water, but it was still rather peaceful. They didn’t have many places like this in Tevinter – with open land, wildlife, rippling waves in the water, on a clear night when the stars were visible high above them.

It was a nice night for a walk.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Dorian blinked, looking at Callum. “Excuse me?”

“The stars,” the rogue said, gesturing at the sky as he looked upward. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Dorian stared at the rogue for a moment, memorizing the lines of his face in the moonlight. It cast a soft glow across his features and his stubble seemed a little more pronounced. His eyes glowed with the twinkle of the stars. A hot ball formed in Dorian’s stomach and he blinked, refocusing.

“Yes,” he replied quietly, looking skyward. “It is breathtaking.”

“Do you have views like this in Tevinter?”

“Sometimes,” Dorian replied. “Though, not very often. The skies never seem quite so clear.”

“Shame,” Callum said.

“It is. Do you always have such a view? Have you always?” he asked, looking back at the rogue, who was still looking upward.

A thoughtful expression overcame Callum’s face before he bit lightly at his bottom lip, a trait he had when he was thinking, or remembering. It was a cute little habit.

_Cute?_

Dorian fought the urge to sigh. He always preferred men over women, so he wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t find Callum attractive, because the rogue had quite the appearance. However, in Tevinter such urges were accepted but unwanted. It was a source of contention with him and his parents. Eventually he stopped trying to find a man in Tevinter, and pushed all thoughts of ‘cute’ and things like that out of his mind. It was second nature now.

Except this wasn’t Tevinter, and it seemed more accepted here. Fenris and Hawke were together, anyway. Or, rather, Dorian assumed they were as he hadn’t actually come out and asked such a question. He liked his head where it was, thanks very much.

“My dad and I used to look at the stars every night,” Callum said quietly, and Dorian broke away from his tangled web of thoughts, watching the rogue carefully. There was sadness in the depths of those twinkling eyes, fondness written in his gaze. A fond memory, tied to something tragic, Dorian presumed.

“You never speak of your family,” Dorian said.

“Neither do you.”

“Touché.”

The two stood there in silence for a moment, before Callum sighed. “Ask. I know you’re dying to know.”

“Not _dying_ ,” Dorian said. “But I am curious, yes.”

“Then ask.”

“What is your family like?”

“They’re dead.”

Dorian released a quick breath, biting down on his tongue. He had no idea what to say to that. ‘Sorry’ was the typical response but it was more akin to people who said it simply to say something. In truth he hated it when people said ‘sorry’. They felt no guilt; they had nothing to do with it. It wasn’t their fault, so why apologize?

“Oh,” he finally settled on saying.

_Oh, yes, great response, Dorian. I am truly the epitome of compassion._

Callum shrugged, looking at the ground with a thin layer of frost on the grass. “It was a long time ago.”

“How… old were you?”

“Ten.”

Dorian winced. “Oh. That… sucks.”

Callum released a laugh which was anything but happy. It was a sound Dorian found he rather hated. “That’s one way of putting it, I guess.”

“What… happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“They were killed.”

“Killed,” Dorian repeated with a frown. Callum wore an expression which made Dorian want to pull him into a tight hug, which was simply ridiculous. He wasn’t the hugging type, really. Callum was tactile and friendly, clapping a hand to a shoulder or hugging someone, but Dorian was not. Too much of that in Tevinter was frowned upon. “By… who? Why?”

“I don’t know why,” Callum said tersely, and Dorian nearly winced at the sound. The rogue took in a deep breath, steadying himself. When he spoke next his voice was more flat. “But I plan on finding out. Let’s talk about something else, please.”

“Of course,” Dorian said quietly, watching the rogue. “Whatever you want.”

xXx

By the time Dorian and Callum returned, Fenris, Anders and Hawke were having a heated discussion by the fire. Emry slept soundly through it all as Dorian and Callum approached. The conversation stopped and Hawke looked at Callum.

“I wish I didn’t come here,” the mage said.

Callum frowned, confused. “Why’s that?”

What did Cassandra say to Hawke? Why did she want to speak to him in the first place? Sometimes he really hated the whole ‘don’t question the client’ part of the deal.

“Cassandra is trying to rope me into becoming the Inquisitor.”

“The… what?” Callum asked, wrinkling his nose in confusion.

“ _Inquisitor_ ,” Hawke repeated with a scowl. “She wants to bring back the Inquisition in light of the mage-Templar war since everything’s spiraling out of control. And she wants _me_ at its head.”

“Why?” Dorian asked. “You’re a mage – wouldn’t you be partial to the mages?”

“It’s not like that. It’s… I don’t know,” Hawke sighed, dragging a hand across his face. “It’s complicated. But I have no desire to lead anything, let alone the _Inquisition_.”

“So tell her no,” Callum said.

“She wants me at the head because I was the Champion of Kirkwall and I was there when everything started. She has a point, I guess.”

“No she doesn’t,” Fenris argued.

Hawke shrugged somewhat helplessly. “Yes, well… I can’t just say no.”

“And why not?” Fenris asked. “You have nothing to do with the Inquisition. If she wants someone to lead it, she can.”

Fenris had a point. Callum agreed with him.

“She has no desire to lead it,” Hawke said.

“And neither do you,” Anders replied, speaking up for the first time since Dorian and Callum joined them.

“The mages already trust me, she said. I could get them to listen. I know how it all began so I could potentially help end it by leading the Inquisition.”

“But if you don’t want to, don’t do it,” Callum said with a shrug. “She can’t _make_ you lead anything.”

Hawke shrugged. “She doesn’t want to start the Inquisition until after the Divine has spoken to the head of the mages and the Templars in a private meeting. I don’t know when this will happen – setting it up has apparently been a nightmare.”

“I can see how that would be complicated. No one is going to trust being somewhere the other group is as well,” Dorian replied.

Callum silently agreed. The mages wouldn’t trust going somewhere knowing Templars would be there, and vice versa. It was a giant mess and it all gave him a headache. All he wanted to do at that moment was curl up near the fire and sleep for the next year or so. Too much traveling, too much chaos with this war, and he knew it was only just beginning.

“You have time to decide, at least,” Dorian said.

“Yes – a silver lining, then,” Hawke sighed, shaking his head. “I will think on it, but I don’t have any desire to lead anything. That didn’t end well in Kirkwall.”

At the mention of Kirkwall Fenris narrowed his eyes while Anders looked at the ground, hunching in on himself as though to make himself smaller and less noticeable. Hawke, too, fell silent.

“Well,” Callum said, clapping his hands together with a sigh, “what a day this has been! Hopefully tomorrow will be better, yes?”

“Hopefully,” Dorian agreed.

“Somehow, I doubt it,” Hawke said.

“At least you have time. You don’t have to decide right now,” Callum said.

“There is that,” Hawke agreed.


	10. Dreams and Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian has a visitor in his dreams, and Callum and Dorian take a trip to Ostwick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! This chapter is also kind of short, just over 3k. Sorry xD It's more of a slow chapter. We'll see how it goes from here, I guess :) I don't know how long this will be or anything. Thoughts?

Chapter Nine: Dreams and Memories

 

Dorian had always been interested in men instead of women – he couldn’t handle all the easy curves and soft lumps and preferred something more solid beneath his grasp. When he was just becoming a teenager and his preference became noticeable, he had a lot of… _dreams_. Several of them, centered around boys his age and random thoughts of fancy. When his first desire demon came to him at the age of fifteen he wasn’t sure what to make of it. He had been warned against such creatures, but to actually see one in his dream was baffling. The demon came in the guise of a friend, a peer at the Circle where he trained, who often joked with Dorian when they could get away with it.

Dorian realized it was a dream – and a rather raunchy one at that – the minute the boy agreed to do as he wished. The moment they climbed into bed together he knew it was a dream, because there was no foreboding sense of worry that his father might catch them – that _anyone_ might catch them. After that it became easy to notice the slight changes which made the dream enjoyable, little changes which weren’t present in reality.

As a teenager he was haunted with dreams filled with demons and random fancies he had. At one point he stopped enjoying them altogether – it was never as good as the real thing, and sometimes it was a little too tempting when those demons got it right.

Dorian realized he had a problem when the demon looking back at him wore Callum’s face.

Everything about him was perfect, right down to the slightest dimple along the right side of his mouth when he smirked. The long eyelashes, copper-green eyes, shorter frame, sandy hair too shaggy to truly be tamed… it was all perfect. It was Callum.

Except for one minor detail:

_Callum would never look at me like that._

Which was truly a pity. Callum looked quite nice with his tongue playing on his lips like that, suggestively as he beckoned Dorian closer. The problem wasn’t that he was being visited by a demon – he was a mage, after all, and demons were fond of tempting them toward the ‘dark side’, as it were – but that it was _Callum_.

Up until that moment Dorian had been perfectly comfortable in the knowledge they were just friends, and that was all he wanted from the rogue. This dream proved otherwise. The lust demon was very good at its job – Callum looked so good it hurt.

 _It’s been a while,_ he tried to reason with himself, but it was hard to think when Callum kept smiling at him like _that_. _This will pass. Don’t worry. It’ll pass like it always does._

He had been alone, physically, for a while. It was bound to happen sooner or later, and Callum was a dear friend. The best friend Dorian had ever had. Even Felix wouldn’t have stuck up for him like Callum did, Dorian was sure. Felix was a good friend but even he had limits. Facing off against those Templars, Dorian wondered if Felix would have stuck around to help him, to fight for him, or if he would have used Dorian’s fate as a distraction.

Felix was a good person. Alexius was a good man. They were a good family. He couldn’t picture Felix just leaving him there. And yet…

Felix never stood up for him in Tevinter. He never ratted on him to Dorian’s father, but he never took his side in an argument, either. He would keep quiet and attempt to cheer Dorian up later. Somehow, that was the difference between Felix and Callum. Callum would defend Dorian every step of the way and demand retribution – Felix would surrender, let the argument die, and then seek Dorian out after the chaos was over.

Somehow, this knowledge didn’t help him any. All it did was make him appreciate Callum’s appearance _more_ , even though it was a demon.

“Dorian,” the demon said, and the voice was Callum’s. Every minute rumble, inflection, everything – Callum’s. The demon stepped closer and even the _walk_ was correct. This demon did its research. Thin fingers lifted, brushing against Dorian’s cheek, thumb rubbing along the tip of his mustache.

That simple movement should not have had such an impact on him. He swallowed thickly and held his breath, staring at the demon.

At a perfect representation of copper-green eyes. He was so close he could count the individual flecks if he desired to do so.

“You’re not real,” he finally breathed.

“I can be,” the demon said with a smirk – the mischievous one Callum wore when they were joking. “I can make this a reality, Dorian. All you have to do is say the word.”

Dorian took in a breath and closed his eyes. “Not interested.”

“Oh, but you _are_.”

“No. I want nothing you have to offer.”

“Then why do you respond to my touch?”

He brow furrowed as he opened his eyes, but the demon was right, he knew. His stomach felt hot and his clothes felt tight.

“Dorian?”

The voice echoed around them – warm, familiar, and not the demon.

“Wake up,” the voice continued.

Dorian closed his eyes, then opened them. This time when he opened them he actually woke up, and found Callum hovering over him, smirking down at him.

“Morning, sleepy head,” Callum said with a chuckle. “You move a lot in your sleep, did you know that?”

“I would have thought you’d have learned that by now,” Dorian said.

“Yes – but I’m not usually next to you.”

Dorian blinked a few times, sitting up. “Next to me?”

“My options were limited. It was either snuggle with you or stay awake talking ‘Justice’ with Anders,” Callum said with a shrug, like it was no big deal. In truth it shouldn’t have been, but in light of his recent dream, Dorian couldn’t help but feel a bit… exposed.

“I move a lot, you said?”

“Yes – you kicked me in the hip. If I get a bruise I will never talk to you again.”

Dorian couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

Callum flashed him a grin. “Anyway – Emry’s got breakfast waiting for us.”

“For us? Me as well?” Dorian asked, quirking a brow even as he followed the rogue to his feet, stretching sore muscles. He had no desire to sleep on the hard ground again, even if it was near a warm fire.

“Of course, silly,” Callum said. “Unless Hawke eats it all. Fenris warned me not to leave my food unguarded around him. I just hope Emry will be enough to fend him off.”

Dorian laughed, unable to stop himself. It felt incredibly good to laugh, long and hard. It felt so… freeing, like he hadn’t done it before. In fact Callum was able to make him laugh a lot of the time. He hadn’t laughed this much since he was a child. At least, not genuine laughter he couldn’t stop from spilling out of his mouth.

“Then perhaps we should hurry, lest we starve,” he said.

Callum smiled at him for a moment.

“What?” Dorian asked, frowning somewhat.

“Nothing,” Callum said. “You just have a nice laugh. You should do it more.”

Dorian honestly didn’t know what to say to that, so instead he blushed – he could deny it all he wanted, dammit, but he could feel it – and looked away, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Um, yes,” he said quickly, “well, uh… we should be joining them, then.”

Callum chuckled and turned to lead the way. They headed toward the gates, down the steps. Dorian could smell food from a cookout not far ahead.

“Oh…” Callum said slowly, “I, um… I need to talk to you about something, actually.”

Dorian frowned at his sandy-haired companion. “What is it?”

“Well… I need to go to Ostwick soon.”

“Ostwick?” Dorian asked, frowning. He’d never been there before. “Whatever for?”

Callum looked away, shrugging. “I just… it’s… I go there about this time every year, when I can.”

Dorian quirked a brow. “Why?”

“It’s just… important to me. Anyway, I usually go alone.”

“I do not think that is wise.”

“As I said – _usually_ go alone. This time, however…”

Dorian watched as the rogue took in a slow breath and then released it in a huff, glancing at Dorian.

“I’d like you to come with me. If you want to, that is. If not, that’s perfectly fine, I won’t be angry or anything. It’s going to be a long walk anyway and I know I can get annoying after days upon days of listening to me talk and-”

At this rate Callum was going to pass out from speaking too fast without taking time to breathe between the words. He held up a hand, halting him mid-rant, copper-green eyes focusing on him somewhat timidly.

“I will go with you,” Dorian said with a smile, finding amusement in Callum’s sudden shyness since the rogue was usually not shy at all.

“You will?”

“You have only but to ask, Callum.”

Callum’s face split into a wide grin and he threw his arms around Dorian in a quick hug, letting him go almost as soon as he touched him.

Dorian wasn’t sure why Callum wanted to go to Ostwick, and was even more confused as to why he would choose _him_ to go with him when he usually went alone, but somehow the trip seemed… nice.

What was a few more days – or weeks – away from his hut, anyway?

xXx

“You’re going with _him_?”

Emry was as angry as Callum expected him to be, though he could not for the life of him figure out why. It wasn’t like Emry went with him to Ostwick. He never invited anyone with him and always went alone, but suddenly, with all that was happening… he wanted to bring a friend. Dorian was the first to spring to his mind, and he wasn’t sure why. He had known Emry longer, after all. Perhaps it was because he and Dorian had been spending more time together lately, or because he didn’t want Dorian traveling back to his hut alone, with the war worsening. He would make an easy target for a group of Templars.

There were a lot of possible reasons for wanting to bring Dorian with him. There weren’t many reasons for not picking Emry first, or as well.

“You said you wanted to get back to work,” Callum said, frowning at the elf. “And Dorian would be traveling back to his hut alone, which is unsafe. This way neither of us are alone. I thought you’d be happy I was finally taking precautions. Aren’t you always nagging me about it when I go to Ostwick?”

Emry huffed agitatedly, glowering at him. “ _Yes_ , but you could take me instead. You’ve known him for all of five minutes.”

“It’s better if I take him with me,” Callum tried to reason. “Safer for everyone.”

“Then why am I not permitted to go, if it would make it safer for everyone?”

“We already discussed this – you said you wanted to get back to work, and someone needs to report into Caine.”

Caine was their boss, so to speak, and he was using the term loosely. He gave them their jobs and gave them their pay after their completion. If it took too long he docked some of the pay and kept it for himself. It certainly gave them incentive to do their work quickly and efficiently.

It had already been a while. Weeks. One of them needed to report back to Caine.

“Besides,” Callum said quietly, “you hate Ostwick.”

“I _dislike_ it, I don’t hate it,” Emry corrected with a scowl.

“Why are we arguing about this?”

“Why are you taking him? You barely know him!”

“I know enough,” Callum replied, scowling back at his friend. “I don’t know what he did to make you hate him so much, but this needs to stop, Emry. He’s my friend and he’s going to join us from time to time. You’re going to have to get used to him.”

Emry sighed, looking down at the ground. “I know you’re friends. I just… don’t trust him.”

“You don’t trust him? Why not?”

Dorian hadn’t done a thing to make him the least bit untrustworthy in Emry’s eyes. In fact it was _Emry_ who walked away when Callum was hurt, leaving him alone with Dorian. Dorian stayed the entire time. Granted, he didn’t really have a choice in the matter since it was his home, but still. He was there and Emry wasn’t.

Perhaps he was still a little miffed at Emry for leaving in such a huff, but guilt was a powerful feeling and Emry didn’t wear it well.

“Look, just… if you want to take him with you, I can’t change your mind,” Emry said quietly, still looking at the ground, head bowed. “But do be careful. I won’t be there to watch your back.”

“I’ll be fine,” Callum said.

Emry nodded, though he didn’t look convinced.

xXx

Ostwick was a city-state along the southern coast. As soon as they entered the city came the scent of the marketplace. Listening to the hustle and bustle of city life always left Callum feeling homesick. As a boy he chased his brothers and sisters through the marketplace while his parents bought items and food. The air coming off the coast always seemed to make it easier to breathe after being cooped inside all winter.

It was perfect, when he was little.

To this day Ostwick held a certain charm and it would forever maintain a place in his heart.

Dorian seemed to like the charm of the city and the children running around the marketplace. He wore a soft smile which was rare to see. Callum found he enjoyed the sight of it.

“What brings us to Ostwick, if you don’t mind my asking?” Dorian asked, and Callum had been waiting for this question for a while.

“You’ll see,” he said quietly.

In truth, he still wasn’t sure why he decided he wanted company this year. Every year he made the trip here, alone. And yet this year… he decided to bring Dorian, and he wasn’t even sure why. Why not bring Emry instead, or bring them both? The reasons he gave Emry were true, but it seemed like there was more to it than that, too.

It was all very confusing.

“Does this place hold some sort of meaning to you?” Dorian asked a few minutes later, after walking in relative silence save for the chatter around them.

They walked through the center of town and through the marketplace, up a hill toward flat ground, an empty area of mostly dead grass.

In his mind’s eye he could picture a large house – a mansion. The Trevelyan Estate on this very land. Kids running around the front yard, through the front doors and through the halls, sidestepping servants and other siblings. Himself hiding on top of the cabinets, the champion of hide-and-seek.

The blood on the ground. The screams. The silence.

The glow of the fire – the scent of a scorched life withered away to ashes.

“Callum?”

Callum blinked and looked at Dorian, unaware he’d stopped walking then, simply standing in place, staring at the empty bit of land. He swallowed thickly, for a moment hearing the sound of laughter, an echo of good times. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath as he took a step forward.

“Callum?” Dorian asked again, and a hand landed on his shoulder.

He shook off the tentative hold, opening his eyes. “It’s not far.”

Dorian thankfully fell silent and the two walked a few more feet into the center of the empty bit of land. The noise from the marketplace drowned out and all that was left was the silence of a life he used to know.

Every year he came here to pay respects for his family. Each year it became harder and yet easier all at the same time. He didn’t want to forget them, but it was getting harder to remember their faces. The laughter, the smiles, the conversations, the arguments… Everything was blurry, forever slipping away and one day he would remember nothing except that there _used_ to be a memory there.

He pulled the flowers from his knapsack. Dorian eyed them strangely, unaware he’d been carrying them in the first place. Callum kept them hidden from Dorian the whole time so it was understandable the mage was confused.

“Callum?” Dorian asked again, a touch more timidly. “Why are we here?”

“To pay our respects,” he replied quietly, keeping his gaze focused on the ground as he knelt there, carefully placing the flowers on the dead grass.

“Respects? What happened here?”

“There was a fire,” he said softly, voice barely audible.

“A fire?” Dorian knelt next to him.

“Killed everyone. Burned the house to ashes.”

Dorian remained silent, but Callum could feel his eyes on him as he continued to look at the flowers on the ground. They were black roses and took him a while to find, but he found a place to get them which wasn’t far from Ostwick. He got them there every year before coming here.

They were a little wilted but still alive.

 _Like me,_ he thought grimly.

“Killed…?”

Callum took in a breath. He had never spoken of this to anyone. Very briefly he mentioned it to Emry, but to speak of it here, where one could potentially identify him if they wanted to do so…

“My family,” he said. The words felt foreign – so long since he admitted the truth. So long since he claimed them as his family, since he felt like he belonged somewhere. So long since he thought of himself as a Trevelyan. Some days it didn’t feel real. Some days it felt like he’d always been Callum. But in truth Callum didn’t exist.

He was nothing but a well told lie.

Everything about him was a lie.

“Your family?” Dorian repeated, sounding quite shocked. “I… I’m terribly sorry.”

“Don’t apologize – you had nothing to do with it,” he said, shaking his head, carefully brushing down the petals of the roses, careful of the thorns. “It was a long time ago.”

“How long ago, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“A decade.”

“You were but a boy.”

He shrugged, uncertain as to how to respond to that.

“Were you not home the night of the fire?”

“I was there,” he breathed, closing his eyes again. “I barely escaped.”

“Oh… I see…”

“That’s not the worst of it.”

_Callum, stop – what are you doing?_

_Sorry, Callum doesn’t exist, remember? Schuyler wants someone to know._

He wanted _Dorian_ to know.

“It gets _worse_?” Dorian asked, frown evident in his voice.

“They didn’t die in the fire.”

“They didn’t? Then…?”

He took in a slow breath, opened his eyes and glanced over his shoulder at Dorian, who knelt watching him carefully, expression filled with shock and sympathy.

“The fire happened after.”

Dorian’s brow furrowed, and then his eyes widened in realization. “You mean…?”

“They were murdered.”

“Maker…”

“The fire covered it up.”


	11. A Tale of Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callum speaks of his family for the first time in years, and Dorian makes a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt bad for leaving the last chapter where it was so I went ahead and got this out, surprisingly xD I'm really tired right now and loopy on my meds so sorry in advance for typos and everything. Also - comments? :D I truly appreciate them!

Chapter Ten: A Tale of Murder

 

“Your family was… murdered?” Dorian couldn’t help but repeat, because for some reason it wasn’t registering in his mind. All he could think about at that moment was a young boy staring at the destruction of his home and knowing it was murder but being unable to tell anyone… It had to have been such a nightmare for Callum.

“Yes,” Callum confirmed with a sigh and a nod as he dug the heel of his palm into his eyes, expression contorted. Clearly time had not healed all the wounds that one night brought him. “It was… It was Father’s name day, you see. The whole family was there, and the servants got the night off.”

“Callum…”

_You don’t have to tell me._

It was clear it was hard for him to speak of it. Dorian didn’t need answers if Callum didn’t wish to give them, but if he wanted to tell him he would listen. He would listen and do what he could to help, though he doubted he could do much.

_Who would want to murder his family? And hide it with a fire?_

“I don’t have all the details,” Callum continued quietly, eyes tightly closed behind the heel of his palm, still dug into his face. His voice was raw, ragged. It was a sound Dorian found he rather hated. “All I know is… they thought they killed everyone. They were there to kill my family – _all of us_. I was… I…”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Dorian said quietly, moving a little closer so he could rest his hand on Callum’s shoulder. Unlike earlier when the rogue brushed him off, this time he allowed the contact and even seemed to lean into it a little. Dorian hoped he at least provided a little comfort, no matter how small.

“I liked to play hide-and-seek,” the rogue continue after taking in a deep breath. “I was the youngest, and the smallest. I was always small. I could fit anywhere. My sister… Sarabeth… She… She knew where I always hid. She always knew where I was, somehow, and… and that night, when…”

“Callum, please,” he said softly. “You don’t have to tell me.”

It was clearly upsetting him, and Dorian didn’t blame him for it one bit. He hated that tone of his voice as well – it left _him_ feeling raw and ragged just listening to it, and he didn’t have the memories tied to it. Seeing the typically jovial – or at least enthusiastic – Callum behave this way was wrong, and he wished he could fix this but knew not where to start.

He couldn’t change the past, after all.

“Sarabeth saw me when… when she was being killed. I could see her from my hiding place atop the cabinets. In the shadows. The shadows came to life and killed my family, and as I heard them screaming, Sarabeth shook her head and I stayed put.”

Dorian winced at the rawness in his voice, growing even more present. Callum removed his hand from his face and turned his broken gaze toward Dorian’s eyes, and he had to look away from the deep pools of broken emotion hidden in those copper-green eyes.

“I hid like a coward while they were killed. And you know what was the worst of it all? The screaming, the fear, the bodies… everything?”

Dorian shook his head, unable to speak, voice lodged somewhere in his throat, a lump he couldn’t swallow down try as he might.

“The _silence_. The silence after the screaming. When I _knew_ they were all dead. I could see Sarabeth’s blank stare and everything.”

Unconsciously, he tightened his grip on Callum’s shoulder, feeling a tremor tear through the smaller frame. He fought the urge to pull the rogue into a hug, as that wasn’t his style really, and he wasn’t sure it would be appreciated right now, not when he seemed determined to keep talking.

_No more. I don’t need to know anymore. Mercy._

Hearing the story in that broken voice was terrible.

“And I couldn’t even… I couldn’t _do anything_. If the killer found out I was alive… he’d kill me too. He was _determined_ to have _all of us_ die. He counted the bodies. My brother’s girlfriend was there that night – I guess he thought she was the missing number. I don’t know. I… I just… I shouldn’t be alive.”

On that broken note, when Callum’s head bowed so his chin dipped toward his chest, expression contorted in misery, something inside of him snapped. He tightened his hold and spun Callum so he was facing him completely, his hands firm on both of the rogue’s shoulders now as he gave him a quick shake. Those shining eyes shot toward his own, confused.

“Don’t say that,” he said, unable to stop himself. “Don’t you ever say that.”

“But it’s true,” Callum said quietly. “I’m supposed to be dead with them.”

“But you’re _not_ ,” Dorian said firmly, narrowing his eyes at the rogue. For some reason this particular line of discussion left a tight knot in his stomach which he couldn’t quite figure out. Perhaps because this was his friend – his best friend? – saying he shouldn’t be alive, and practically _regretting_ that he lived when others didn’t. When in reality, Dorian was happy he was alive.

And he wouldn’t let Callum regret having escaped with his life. That was something to cherish – not hate.

“Someone was watching out for you,” Dorian told him.

Callum scoffed. “Why _me_? What have _I_ done that was so damn special?”

Dorian swallowed, uncertain how to answer that. He honestly didn’t know – he just knew it had to be a miracle he was alive in the first place, given what Callum had told him. Someone went to Callum’s home specifically to kill his entire family, including him. Why? Why would someone do that? Why kill kids? Even in Tevinter they had standards. If you had a problem with a particular mage, you took it out on _them_ , not their children.

“Why am _I_ alive but _they’re_ dead?” Callum muttered.

“I don’t know why,” Dorian said, unable to think of anything inspiring to say. He ran his tongue quickly over his lips, searching for the correct words to say as he could see the doubt strengthening in Callum’s gaze. “I don’t know why you alone were spared, but you lived and I know there has to be a reason.”

“Does there? Is there a _reason_ they died?”

Dorian shook his head. “I don’t know, Callum, but… If you died that night think of all the things that would be different now.”

“Like what?”

 _Me_ , he wanted to say, but he bit his tongue at the last moment.

“Hawke would be dead without your insistence we find him help, without you searching for him,” he said instead. “Cassandra would never find her man. And Emry! I confess I don’t know much about him or his past, but I do know you are his friend and where would he be without you?”

The doubt still lingered in Callum’s gaze. Darkening the color of his eyes.

Anger flared in Dorian’s chest and rose to form words. “Do not just simply _give in_ , Callum. Don’t give the killer what he wants.”

“I’m not. I’m alive.”

“Yes, you are, and be thankful for that and stop _regretting_ it.”

Callum looked away, biting at his lower lip. “Why _me_ , Dorian? Why not Sarabeth? Or Mother, or Father? Or anyone?”

“I don’t know.”

“What makes _me_ so damn special? Why did _I_ live but they died?”

_Survivor’s guilt._

He took in a slow breath, tightening his grip on Callum’s shoulders. “Look at me.”

“Dorian…”

Callum was forbidden to ever say his name like that again, he decided as he scowled at the rogue, knot tightening in his stomach.

“I said look at me.”

Callum sighed and dragged his gaze up to meet Dorian’s.

“You’re alive, Callum,” he said quietly, holding the rogue’s gaze. “I don’t know why, but you are, and I for one am grateful.”

“Grateful?” Dark brows furrowed in confusion.

_Is it truly so hard to see why?_

Perhaps he did not see his value, and that was truly saddening.

“Yes, _grateful_. I know I haven’t known you for very long, but you are a dear friend to me. I dread to think where I would be had I not run into you when I did.”

And that was the simple truth. Had he not come across Callum and started traveling with him and Emry, he wasn’t sure where he would be. Either back in Tevinter or dead somewhere, he was sure. Thanks to Callum’s help he knew he could make it on his own and had even come to enjoy his hut, especially when he had company. Callum’s company. If he had never met the rogue… if he had died as a child as this killer intended…

Dorian did not wish to think about it.

“Thank you,” Callum said quietly, staring at him with moist eyes. “I… I don’t… I’ve never told anyone before.”

Dorian quirked a brow. “Not even Emry?” he asked, knowing how close the two of them were.

Callum slowly shook his head. “No. Not even Emry.”

“Why not?”

“I just… I don’t… I don’t know who to trust.”

“Trust?”

“If… If I let it slip to someone I’m alive, then… then the killer might find out and he’ll come after me to finish the job.”

That was… a truly disturbing thought Dorian did not wish to linger on.

“Then we’ll have to find and stop him first,” he said.

Callum watched him carefully for a moment, before he asked tentatively, “ _We_?”

“Yes – you and I. I won’t let you continue to face this alone.”

Callum released a slow breath, posture actually relaxing afterward.

“Thank you,” he said again, voice filled with gratitude.

Dorian couldn’t fight the urge then. He pulled the rogue toward him into a tight hug, crushing him against him. Callum froze for a second before he brought his arms around Dorian in return, squeezing just as tightly. It had been a long time since Dorian truly felt a good hug – the warm, safe ones like his mother gave him as a boy. To feel it now only seemed to make the moment more… well, just _more_.

“We’ll figure this out,” he promised. “It will be okay, my friend.”

Callum released a shaky breath and nodded into Dorian’s shoulder as their embrace tightened. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“As am I,” Dorian breathed quietly. “What do we know about this killer?”

“Not much,” Callum said, pulling away from the hug. Dorian released him without fuss even as a part of him wished for the contact to linger just a moment longer. He blamed it on the fact it had been a long time since he was hugged. “He’s tall, with fair hair, and he’s a blood mage. The things he summoned – the living shadows – are shades, I think, but I’m not sure.”

“I see. That is why you asked about the Fade, blood magic, and Tevinter?”

Callum nodded slowly, the raw look finally dispersing to leave behind a contemplative one instead. “Yes, sorry about all those questions. In truth it didn’t help much, but the subject matter was interesting.”

Dorian shrugged. “Well, I _am_ a good teacher.”

Callum cracked a small smile, the first since they entered Ostwick, and Dorian counted it as a victory though he wasn’t sure why it felt like one. Callum smiled all the time – why should not be any different? But then he remembered the raw voice and the broken expression and getting him to smile again seemed more important than it ever had before. Anything to chase away the memory of those looks.

“That you are,” Callum agreed. “Anyway – it’s not much to go on, I’m afraid. Ten years and this is all I have to show for it.” The smile faltered and he sighed, shaking his head as he ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it up even more.

“It’s a start,” Dorian said. “We’ll make the most of it.”

“But I can’t kick up a mess, either,” Callum told him. “Or he’ll hunt me down if he’s still alive.”

That was true – the mage might be dead. A decade was a long time and a lot could happen. But the more troubling issue was the threat hanging above Callum’s life should it be revealed he was the sole survivor of that ‘fire’ a decade ago.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he found himself saying without thinking, but once he spoke the words he found he meant them with every fiber of his being. As long as he was around, no harm would befall Callum, certainly not from a blood mage intent on murdering an entire family for unknown reasons.

Callum cracked another smile. “That’s – sweet, Dori, but I don’t want you getting in harm’s way, you understand?”

“Completely,” Dorian said. “So you can protect me while I protect you. Does that sound fair?”

Callum chuckled quietly. Another victory. Dorian smiled.

“You have a deal,” Callum said, nodding at him as he held out his hand.

Dorian clasped the rogue’s gloved hand and shook it once before releasing it.

“Well,” Callum sighed, “I’ve had enough of this place for a year. Are you hungry?”

Dorian shook his head at the change in subject, but this seemed like it was in more familiar territory as far as Callum was concerned, so he nodded and allowed the rogue to lead him away from the empty bit of land.

The empty land where once a large house – or mansion, since he said he had servants – stood, filled with children’s laughter and a young Callum only worried about playing hide-and-seek. A mansion, a home, filled with innocence. Innocence which had been stolen from him.

And he’d had to live his life thus far with that guilt, and the threat of death hanging over him should the killer find out he still lived.

Dorian clenched his hand into a fist at his side as he walked just behind Callum, letting the rogue lead the way.

_I won’t let that happen._

xXx

After visiting the site of his old home and telling his story to Dorian, Callum felt rather exhausted for the rest of the day. Emotionally spent, as it were. He dragged his feet until they found a nice room in an inn. Dorian nearly wept at the sight of a warm bed, Callum was sure. He smiled as the mage rolled onto the bed with a gleeful sigh, until he realized a small detail and glanced at Callum, who had yet to sit on the bed or anything, closing the door behind them.

“There is only one bed,” Dorian said.

“Thank you for stating the obvious.”

Dorian shifted somewhat uneasily, fisting the covers in his hands as he looked away. “One bed isn’t a problem for you?”

“Nope. Is it for you?”

In truth he never even thought this would be an issue. It was cheaper to get only one bed. When he and Emry were traveling they typically only got one bed if they could scrape up enough money to stay in an inn, otherwise they slept on the ground in their makeshift campsites. Plus, he usually came here alone so one bed was all that was needed, and old habits died hard.

Now, seeing the hesitation on Dorian’s face…

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he offered.

“No,” Dorian said, shaking his head. “No, this is fine.”

“What’s the problem?” he asked, coming over to sit on the bed as he kicked off his boots. They landed with a small thud on the ground at the foot of the bed. The bedding beneath him was simply marvelous as he stretched out, laying on the bed now; he may never leave.

“Nothing. You said I kicked you in my sleep. I did not wish to kick you off the bed and have you scold me for it later,” Dorian said with a smirk, but the smile did not reach his eyes.

_He’s lying. Why?_

Maybe he scared him off.

Telling him about his past was bound to have consequences, after all. While he was telling the story, for the very first time, he felt open, drained, raw. The wound felt so incredibly fresh and Dorian didn’t run from the scene. He stayed and spoke to him and promised to help him fix things, find the killer, and even said he would protect Callum. The thought was very touching.

And yet now he seemed to want distance between them while they slept. This made no sense. He frowned.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Dorian said. “Merely tired. Let us sleep.”

Callum eyed him a moment before he shrugged, too tired – and emotionally exhausted – to do much else at the moment. He rolled over and closed his eyes, and within minutes he was asleep, atop the covers and everything.

xXx

Dorian lay awake for a long while, listening to Callum breathe next to him. He swore it wasn’t as creepy as it sounded. The sound was pleasant – the light, even breaths reassuring him of another’s presence. It wasn’t Callum’s presence next to him in bed that bothered him – it was the fact he had _dreams_ about Callum, and having the rogue so close left him feeling rather exposed.

These dreams needed to stop. Nothing could happen between them, and in any case, it was a simple crush because it had been a long time since he had been with anyone. It was pure frustration, nothing more. He wouldn’t risk their friendship over something so trivial, even if Callum _did_ like to flirt. It was all harmless flirting that didn’t mean anything.

So he lay awake late into the night, until he could no longer keep his eyes open. Then he slept.

And he dreamed.

The demon tried a different tactic this time. He had to give it credit for creativity.

Instead of Callum looking at him suggestively he was wearing that broken expression again, and Dorian caved. He welcomed the demon to him with open arms, only wishing to wipe that expression away because it was truly painful to see.

“Dorian,” the demon said in that painfully raw voice Callum had used earlier, which left him wincing.

“Stop this,” he told the demon.

“You don’t like seeing me hurt, do you?”

“You’re not him,” he said.

_Therefore the matter is moot._

“Then why do you hold me so?”

He immediately released his hold on the demon and spun away from it, unable to look at whatever expression it might choose to wear. It wasn’t Callum, as he kept telling himself. This demon could sound broken and raw all it wanted, but it wasn’t Callum so it should have absolutely no effect on him.

“Oh, _Dorian_ ,” the demon _purred_ , switching tactics.

His spine stiffened. He felt hot breath against the back of his neck, leaving him shivering. Fingers trailed along his shoulder, then toward his neck, then up to rub at his mustache, approaching from behind. A strong arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him against a firm body. Teeth bit lightly at his earlobe.

He shivered again, trying to clear his thoughts because this wasn’t Callum.

_This is only a dream. None of it is real._

“I can be real for you,” the demon purred into his ear, licking at the shell. “I can be as real as you want me to be.”

“I’m not interested.” It took more effort than it should have to say that.

“When will you stop denying me?”

“You’re not real.”

“I can be so very real, Dorian. You have only but to ask.”

“Not interested.” His tongue felt heavy in his mouth.

“How long will you fight me? How long will you fight him?”

“Leave me be, demon. I don’t want what you’re offering.”

“And yet you do not resist.”

Swallowing, he pushed away from the demon. The strong arm around his waist held him in place, which just cemented the fact this was a dream because in reality Callum wasn’t that strong.

“You won’t get anything from me,” Dorian warned the demon. “You can keep trying all you want but my answer will never change.”

“So you won’t give into desire, then?”

“No.”

“Hmm,” it purred in his ear, leaving him stiffening. “Then I shall change my tactics. Until next time, my sweet.”

And just like that, the demon was gone, as was the arm around him and the lips at his ear. He spun around but found himself alone in a room. He vaguely recognized it as his room in his hut.

“Dorian.”

The voice echoed around him, bouncing off the walls. He smiled and took in a breath, closing his eyes.

_Alright, Dorian. Wake up. That’s reality calling._

He counted to three then opened his eyes and found himself laying down on his back in a soft bed, with Callum sitting next to him, peering down at him with a smirk. Immediately he thought of the dream and the demon’s offer and his face burned.

“You talk in your sleep, you know.”

That brought him up cold. He swallowed, staring up at the ceiling, attempting to ignore the sudden racing of his heart and the burning of his cheeks which were surely on fire. He would need an ice spell to deal with that.

“I do? Did I say anything interesting?”

“It was all gibberish,” Callum said with a shrug. “But it sounded hilarious.”

Dorian chanced a glance at the rogue to find Callum smiling at him in amusement. “Well, I am happy this amuses you.”

Callum chuckled. “Anyway, I brought you breakfast.”

Dorian sat up to find Callum already handing him a bowl of stew. “Isn’t it a bit early for stew?”

“It’s after lunch,” Callum said with a smirk. “We overslept a bit.”

“Indeed,” he said, quirking a brow before he took a bite of his stew and smiled. “This is actually fairly decent.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“But where is your food?”

Callum shrugged. “I already ate.”

“Oh.”

“Go ahead – enjoy your food. I’m just going to get some supplies and we can leave later today if you want.” Callum got to his feet and Dorian nodded slowly.

“Yes, that sounds fine,” he told the rogue. “Do be careful, though. I would hate to have to hunt you down in the marketplace.”

Callum laughed and shook his head as he approached the door. “Perish the thought.”

Dorian snorted and watched him depart, the door closing quietly behind him.

He focused on his stew and tried to forget about his dreams, and the possible looming threat hanging over Callum’s head.


	12. The Man with the Flaxen Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emry and Callum hit the road for a job, and Dorian gets a visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm... I feel like this chapter goes all over the place but that might be because I'm on day 4 of a bad headache and I'm loopy from taking my meds, so xD We'll see how it sounds, I guess. Thoughts?

Chapter Eleven: The Man with the Flaxen Hair

 

After returning from Ostwick, it was time for Dorian to return to his hut and for Callum to return to work. Dorian would be lying if he said he wasn’t dismayed by this. In light of recent events, and the tale of Callum’s true past, he found himself feeling slightly _protective_ of the rogue. More than once he snapped at Emry on the way back to the hut, when the elf joined them halfway here to inform Callum his presence was needed on a job. He snapped at the elf for foolishly joking like he always did – his words meant nothing and were all in good fun, but to Dorian it seemed insensitive. However, Emry didn’t know Callum’s true past. Callum only told Dorian.

_And why is that, I wonder?_

He hadn’t the faintest idea why Callum would confide in him but not Emry. He and the elf had known each other longer, after all. And yet he found himself feeling oddly _relieved_ Callum chose to confide in him over anyone else. It meant the rogue trusted him, and it had been a long time since someone actually _trusted_ him. In Tevinter it was always a game. If you trusted someone with a secret they would stab you in the back whenever it suited them. He even had his doubts with Felix and Alexius from time to time.

Trust was a rare commodity in his homeland, something he always hated. He thought he could trust his parents, but he was wrong. His parents wished to change him for they did not trust him to live his own life and become his own person. They cared only for their legacy, and if that meant betraying their son’s trust and attempting to change him with blood magic, then so be it. It was a price they were willing to pay.

The thought of it still left Dorian grinding his teeth together. A nasty habit, to be sure. His jaw ached, but he could not blame it all on the fact he was still miffed at his parents, and that was putting it lightly. No, he was also worried, and he _hated_ being worried.

Worrying meant you cared, and in Tevinter that was dangerous. But this wasn’t Tevinter – this was the Hinterlands, and Callum wasn’t a peer at the Circle, or a typical mage from Tevinter. Instead he was a true friend. He trusted Dorian enough to speak of his past even if it was dangerous. For all he knew Dorian could turn him into the killer. For all he knew Dorian _knew_ the killer. For all he knew Dorian could have killed him.

The thought left him grimacing.

Callum placed his life in Dorian’s hands, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about that. It was certainly strange, to say the least. And yet… not unwanted.

He _liked_ the trust between them. He _liked_ how their friendship was going.

He liked it.

Liked it all far too much if his dreams were anything to go by.

The demon hadn’t returned, thankfully, but that did not mean his mind didn’t still run rampant when he slept. He dreamt of quick encounters in bed, of hot breath against his ear and firm hands gripping at him.

This needed to stop because nothing could come of it.

“Are you sure you should be going?” he asked, standing in the doorway watching Callum attempt to leave with Emry. The rogue scowled at him, shouldering his bag.

“ _Yes_ , Dorian, for the _fourth_ time. I do have a job to do.”

He had a point, and yet this did not sit right with Dorian. “What is this job?”

Callum hesitated, glancing at Emry, who scowled and shook his head. “You know you’re not supposed to tell anyone.”

Callum bit on his lower lip, contemplating.

“What’s the harm in telling me?” Dorian asked.

“Callum. Don’t,” Emry said.

Callum shrugged. “We’re doing a hit.”

A knot formed in Dorian’s stomach. “A hit? You’re killing someone, then?”

“Rest assured we don’t kill the innocent, Dorian,” Callum told him quietly, despite the glare Emry tossed him. “That’s all I can tell you for now.”

Dorian sighed and shook his head, knowing he couldn’t stop him from leaving, nor could he convince him to let him go with them. Why did he even want to go? He had no desire to commit acts of murder, even if the person had it coming.

And yet…

“Do be careful, then,” he sighed. “I expect to hear word from you in no more than a week.”

Emry’s scowl deepened while Callum grinned. “Of course, Dorian.”

“You don’t have to answer to him,” Emry protested. “Or does he have you on a leash?”

“I wear no leash,” Callum muttered, rolling his eyes. “It’s merely friendly concern, right, Dorian?”

Dorian nodded slowly. Callum grinned again.

“Ah, hello there, blush,” he said with a chuckle, which made Dorian’s face burn all the more. “Fancy seeing you again.”

Emry grabbed Callum’s arm then, tugging him away from the doorway and Dorian. “We’re losing daylight.”

“I will talk to you soon, Dorian,” Callum promised as he was hauled away.

Dorian watched him go, sighing, before he spun and returned to his hut, closing the door behind him.

xXx

Dorian spent the better part of the week reading, as he was getting a rather decent collection of books. Callum tried to bring him at least one whenever he could, since he knew Dorian was fond of reading. It was rather considerate of him. Dorian would have to remember to thank him upon his next visit.

He tried to keep his mind off Callum’s ‘job’ and focus instead on his reading, or anything else, but he found his thoughts traveled toward the rogue more often than not, especially when he slept. As of late he was behind on sleep, and exhausted because of it, but sleep brought with it the threat of that demon returning, and dreams of Callum and himself in bed together.

This would never happen, so he really needed to stop thinking about it and dreaming about it. It had just been so long since he’d lain with another, that was all. Nothing more, nothing less. Simple sexual frustration. In Tevinter all his encounters had been quick – lingering was not wise, nor was the promise for more. There was no connection save for the physical one.

And that was why this felt complicated, he was certain. Because there was already a connection between him and Callum – they were friends. Close friends. Callum trusted him with his secrets, and Dorian felt if he were to open up to anyone, it would be the rogue. He wasn’t ready to do so yet, but one day, perhaps.

And that made this more important, somehow.

He sighed and rubbed a hand across his face before rubbing at his eyes. The words had begun to roll together a few minutes ago due to his exhaustion. Callum would certainly mock him if he found out the reason for his sleeplessness was the fact he kept having dreams about the rogue.

_Get a hold of yourself, Dorian. You are better than this._

He was an altus from Tevinter, after all. Dorian of House Pavus, a prestigious family with a fine bloodline. He could handle a few dreams about his friend.

He yawned and got to his feet, determined to catch some sleep finally. He exited into the bedroom area where he climbed into bed and closed his eyes.

He was asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

xXx

“There he is,” Emry whispered from just behind him, so close Callum felt his breath on the back of his neck as they huddled together on a rooftop. The night air was chilly and the breath on his neck felt strange in contrast, leaving him shivering.

Their target was a murderer, wanted for killing a noble. There was a hefty price on his head which made him worth their time. Callum wondered idly if the man knew he was worth more dead than alive.

“Take him out, Em,” Callum said quietly. “Clean and easy.”

Emry stood from his cover, then, brandishing his bow. He lined up the shot carefully as the man stopped outside a house, pulling free a bottle of wine which he quickly began to chug down as though it were oxygen. Emry took a breath, breathed out, and then loosed his arrow.

Callum watched it sail through the air in a graceful arc before landing in the man’s throat. The man’s eyes flew open wide, the bottle of wine crashed to the ground, and he released this choked, gurgling sound before he finally collapsed. His body twitched a few times as he continued to release these _sounds_ before he finally fell silent.

A life ended and no one was around to care.

A life ended without anyone to mourn.

Sometimes Callum wondered if he was the bad guy here. If he was just like his family’s killer. But this was a bad man who had killed a few times and would continue to do so in the future. It was only the noble’s family that put the price on his head and therefore would get justice.

Callum thought on his own search for justice. He’d probably hire someone to hunt down his family’s killer if he could give them enough to go on, but sadly that wasn’t the case. Instead he was left to search on his own.

_No. Not on your own. Dorian said he would help._

At the thought of the dark haired mage, he felt the smile spread across his face. Emry cast him an odd look, lowering his bow.

“It is done.”

Callum nodded, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “A fine kill, Emry. He won’t be hurting anyone again.”

Emry smiled.

When Emry smiled it was a rare sight. He usually gave half-smiles, sometimes smirks, but a full-out smile or grin was rare indeed. It always felt like a bit of a victory to see one. He smiled back at the elf and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Let us find something to drink, my friend. I feel like we should celebrate.”

Emry’s brow furrowed as the two walked across the rooftop, Callum’s arm still around his shoulders. “What are we celebrating?”

“Whatever we want,” Callum replied with a chuckle. “A job well done, the fact we’re alive, celebrate our friendship… whatever we want, princess.”

Emry smirked and wrapped and arm around Callum’s shoulders in return, which left the rogue’s arm at an odd angle but he didn’t care, enjoying the easy contact. Sometimes he truly enjoyed contact – as a child he touched everyone, giving everyone hugs and everything. After his family’s death he stopped wanting contact altogether, but as he got older he slipped into a more normal routine. Still, sometimes he craved the contact just to know he was still alive.

_This is good. This is friendship._

The two released each other as they made their way off the rooftop.

It didn’t take long for them to find a tavern. They got a table and ordered some drinks, and relaxed into the easy atmosphere. Callum always enjoyed taverns and the like. He enjoyed how honest the drunk people were. More honest than most people, unable to lie. It was a good source of information.

“So,” Emry said slowly, once he was halfway through his bottle of ale, “how was your trip with Dorian?”

It was the first they had spoken of it since they started traveling together again. Callum knew it was bound to come up sooner or later, but he’d been hoping forever. It was a subject he did not wish to linger on, remembering his past. Remembering Dorian’s words, the comfort…

“Why are you smiling?” Emry asked with a frown.

Callum blinked. “The trip was fine.”

“Why do you go to Ostwick?”

Callum looked away, sighing, feeling his good mood disperse. “It’s important to me.”

“Why?”

He shrugged helplessly, uncertain how to respond. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Emry, it was just that it was hard enough to tell the story once, to Dorian, and he didn’t look forward to telling it again. The very thought left him wincing.

“Does this have to do with your family?” Emry asked softly. Callum glanced back at him to find soft brown eyes watching him careful, expression compassionate.

He smiled weakly. “Something like that,” he replied, his voice just as soft.

“You know I’m here if you want to talk, right? As much as I bitch and moan, I am here for you.”

“I know you are, Em, and I appreciate it. Truly. You’re a good friend.”

Emry squirmed a bit, looking away.

“What is it?”

“Did you tell Dorian?”

“I… Yes. I want to tell you too,” he said quickly, before Emry could get the wrong idea, “it’s just… hard, to talk about it again. It was hard enough the first time. I just… give me some time, okay? And I’ll bore you with all the bloody details.”

Emry frowned but nodded. “Whatever you need, Callum.”

“How was Caine?” Callum asked, opting for a change of subject.

Emry shrugged. “Same as always – greedy.”

Caine loved getting money. He also had a good heart, which was a strange combo considering their line of work. It was why he made sure only to send them after truly bad individuals, though. In truth Callum wouldn’t wish to work for anyone else.

He downed the rest of his drink and got to his feet.

“I’ll get us some more,” he said. “We’re getting drunk tonight.”

xXx

Callum’s first thought upon awakening was pain.

His head throbbed and his throat felt raw like he’d been vomiting. His mouth certainly tasted like it. Groaning, he pried heavy eyelids open and found himself staring up at the ceiling with an odd weight on his chest. He frowned and blinked at the ceiling for a long moment, his head ablaze with pain and his thoughts hazy, before he glanced down to find out what that weight on his chest was.

He smirked, amused, when he realized it was Emry’s head resting on his chest, the elf curled into his side in the small bed in which they found themselves. It wasn’t the first time they ended up like this, after all – Emry was a bed hog and Callum claimed all of the covers as his own, so this was typically how they wound up after a night in bed together.

Judging from the taste in his mouth and his headache, he assumed they got drunk last night. The sunlight pouring in through the windows was absolutely terrible. He grimaced and then realized what woke him.

He desperately needed to relieve himself.

This was not something he wanted to do at the moment as his head ached and he was actually quite comfortable. Emry was an excellent blanket. He was always so warm. And the bed beneath him was quite comfortable as well. Moving seemed rather tragic, and yet he needed to do so.

He carefully slipped his hands beneath Emry and gently extracted himself from the elf, easing out from under him. Emry slept like a brick through it all, brows furrowing only slightly before Callum placed his head back down on the bed instead of his chest. He then climbed out of bed and tiptoed out of the room to relieve himself.

Once that was taken care of, he returned to the room to find Emry awake, yawning as he sat up in bed clutching at his head.

“Never let me drink again,” the elf muttered with a grimace.

“I know the feeling,” Callum said sympathetically.

“Why do you do this to me?”

“Whatever do you mean?” he asked, fighting a smirk.

Emry tossed him a pained glare. “It was _your_ idea to get drunk, not mine.”

“You didn’t have to agree with me.”

This time Emry scowled at him and Callum chuckled even as his own head gave a sharp throb, leaving his smile dispersing as he grimaced.

“Yes, well… perhaps no more alcohol for a while,” he said.

Emry nodded. “Yes, please. My head is fit to burst.”

“I’m sorry, Em.”

Emry shrugged. “How do you feel?”

“Same as you, I think.”

The elf sighed. “I didn’t kick you, did I?”

“Not that I know of,” Callum told him truthfully.

Sometimes Emry had nightmares which inevitably left Callum with bruises when the two slept next to each other at night. It was just something he came to accept about Emry since the elf never wished to discuss what the nightmares were about, though to be honest Callum had a few ideas. He just hoped he was wrong.

Emry had a difficult life. He rarely spoke of it save for the fact he was taken from his Clan at a young age and was sold as a slave to a non-mage. Where, Callum wasn’t sure as Emry wouldn’t tell him. All he knew was it scarred Emry in ways which had yet to truly even begin to heal.

He wished he could help his friend but he couldn’t if Emry wouldn’t tell him anything. He couldn’t help if Emry didn’t let him.

“No nightmares, then?” he asked somewhat tentatively.

Emry’s face flushed then. “No.”

Callum quirked a brow. A blushing Emry told a story, a story he desperately wanted to know. “Then what _did_ you dream about, hmm?”

“Nothing.”

“You can’t lie to me, princess. Your face is a tomato.”

Emry rolled his eyes but the blush deepened. “It was nothing. Leave it be.”

Callum smirked. “Oh, it’s _juicy_ , is it? Do tell.”

“You’re terrible. You know that?”

“Yes, yes, I’m the worst. Tell me, princess.”

Emry pushed to his feet, ignoring him as he got to work on putting on his boots. “I’m ready to leave when you are.”

Callum smirked and shook his head, but let the matter drop as he could see how embarrassed Emry was. It must have been one of _those_ dreams. He wondered what passerby caught the elf’s fancy.

But that was truly none of his business, and in truth he was just happy Emry wasn’t having nightmares again.

It took them five minutes to get ready, despite their headaches and queasiness. That was the downside to getting drunk, of course. It was why they didn’t do it very often, but after Ostwick it had been on Callum’s mind.

They left the room at the inn and traveled onto the street leading out of town.

“I’ve a question.”

Callum cast Emry a glance. “Ask.”

Emry hesitated, which wasn’t really like him. Callum waited patiently.

“Are you and Dorian… together?”

“Excuse me?” he asked, staring at the elf as he came to a stop, facing his friend.

Emry sighed, stopping as well, keeping his gaze focused on the ground. “I just… you two seem close. And you took him to Ostwick. I was just wondering…”

_He’s wondering if…? Me and Dorian?_

The very idea was insane! They were merely friends. But now that Emry mentioned it he couldn’t but think… Dorian was rather attractive. But then he found the beauty in everyone. Emry was attractive as well, if he was going to be fair, after all. It didn’t mean anything. Besides, there was nothing between him and Dorian. Sure, he joked with the mage but it wasn’t serious.

“No,” Callum said quickly, shaking his head. “No, of course we’re not, we’re just friends, I told you that.”

Emry nodded. “So there’s nothing more between you two?”

“Of course not. Why do you ask?”

The elf shrugged. “Just curious,” he said as he started walking again.

Callum stared after him for a moment before he followed him, Emry’s question lingering in the back of his mind.

xXx

The days passed slowly for Dorian. Reading grew tiresome and he felt restless, being stuck in the hut all the time. It was chilly outside and he dreaded when the snow would start falling. Either way going outside wasn’t really an option with the cold, the wildlife, and the war.

He was safe in the hut but was going out of his mind with boredom, to be honest.

He’d given up on reading. He spent his time attempting to fix the place up a bit, and cleaning, waiting for Callum to return. It had been nearly a week since the rogue and Emry left. He found himself looking forward to Callum’s return.

He needed to get over this crush because it was starting to get out of hand. If he didn’t get a grasp on this soon it could lead to trouble between him and Callum, which was something he truly didn’t want to have happen. He enjoyed their friendship, after all. This would only complicate matters and it needed to stop.

Perhaps he didn’t know how to be close to someone without feeling this way? It wasn’t like he had a lot of practice in Tevinter. So maybe these dreams were just his way of attempting to come to terms with the connection they shared as friends. It wasn’t like he had a lot of them after all.

But if that was the case then why did he never feel like that about Felix?

The question left him frowning. He truly had no answer which was even more troubling.

He rubbed the heel of his palm into his head and sighed, getting to his feet.

All he could at the moment was focus on something else. He was hungry – he could focus on food.

As he was turning to enter the kitchen, though, there was a knock at the door. A frown formed on his face because who could that possibly be? Perhaps Callum, but somehow he didn’t think the rogue would knock. He usually walked right in, or knocked once then entered anyway, without giving Dorian a chance to respond. Like he lived here too. Which, in a way, perhaps he did. When he stayed here he had free reign, after all, and he stayed for days on end usually. He was also the one who managed to get him this hut in the first place.

He reached for his staff as he moved toward the door, ready to cast a spell at a moment’s notice.

He grabbed the knob and twisted, pulling the door open.

His frown deepened in confusion. “Hello,” he said slowly, uncertainly.

The person standing before him was tall with long, dark blonde hair – graying in some areas – pulled back into a tight ponytail. Dark sapphire eyes looked back at him from a mostly expressionless face save for the slightest upward quirk of his lips.

“Hello,” he person said in a deep baritone voice. “Are you, by chance, Dorian Pavus?”

“Yes,” Dorian said slowly, frown deepening even as his heart raced.

Who could possibly know him out here? He hadn’t told anyone where he lived and he couldn’t see Callum or Emry telling anyone, either. So who was this person and how did they know him?

And there was something very off-putting about this visitor. Something he couldn’t quite place. The deep voice, the fair hair, the tall stature… all of it left a knot forming in his stomach as he recalled the description Callum gave of his family’s killer.

“I have a few questions, if you don’t mind,” the person said politely enough, but still Dorian was uneasy, gripping his staff tightly behind the door so the person couldn’t see it.

“Ask,” he said.

“May I come in?”

“My place is a mess, I’m afraid,” Dorian said apologetically. “Perhaps another time, I’m sure you understand. These small huts don’t leave a lot of room.”

“I see.”

He took in a breath. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You know me but I’ve no idea who you are.”

“You don’t know me,” the guy said, shrugging. “At least, not yet.”

“What does that mean?”

“I will explain in time. But first – have you come across anyone by the name of Schuyler Trevelyan?”

_Schuyler Trevelyan?_

He thought there might have been a Trevelyan in his family tree somewhere, a very distant relative if he remembered his bloodline correctly, but he’d never personally come across a Trevelyan. He also thought he’d remember a name like Schuyler.

He shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t know who that is.”

The man watched him for a moment. “You speak the truth. You don’t know Schuyler Trevelyan.”

“No, I do not. What is this about?”

All of this just made him more and more uncomfortable. He wished he had a way to contact Callum. This person made him uneasy and at least a small part of him was certain this man was perhaps the killer Callum was searching for.

If so he needed to be careful, for he was a blood mage and was willing to kill an entire family, including innocent children.

“I understand you were working on time magic before you left Tevinter.”

Dorian’s brows rose as he was unable to hide his surprise. “Yes,” he said slowly, staring at the person. “How did you know that?”

“Lucky guess. Anyway – I have something here that needs fixed, and unfortunately Alexius won’t help me yet.”

“Yet?” Dorian asked, frowning. “Why not ‘yet’?”

_That is an odd choice of words._

“It is complicated. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen but I do. I don’t have time to wait for this to be fixed, you need to help me.”

“What’s the problem? And we’ll go from there.”

“See – I have this time amulet.”

“Time amulet?” Dorian repeated with a frown. He remembered attempting to work on such things with Alexius back when the man was his mentor, but they never had quite the breakthrough they needed to make it work.

This man seemed to know a great deal about it all. Dorian would admit to some curiosity.

The man pulled said amulet out of a pouch on his belt, holding it up for Dorian to see. Dorian recognized it as something he and Alexius were attempting to craft, but it hadn’t worked.

“Where did you get that?” he asked.

“That’s where it gets tricky.”

“Tricky? How so?”

“I got this amulet from a bad man named Schuyler Trevelyan.”

“The person you thought I might know?”

_What does any of this mean?_

He honestly had no idea. He wished he hadn’t answered the door, despite his curiosity. Curiosity killed the cat, after all. When would he learn?

“He killed a dear friend, you see. A lot of innocent people died because of him. Corypheus wanted only to help mages. But Trevelyan wouldn’t have any of it. So I took this amulet and traveled back in time.”

“ _Time travel_?” Dorian spluttered, staring at the amulet.

It was something he had only _dreamed_ of once upon a time. He never thought they could actually make it happen! Oh, the possibilities! They could go back and see how battles were fought, save people, change history…

There were dangers involved with that, of course. Which was why it had all been theoretical. But if this man spoke the truth then it was real.

“You’re from the future, then?” he asked.

The man nodded. “Yes. And I’ve been stuck here for the past ten years.”

_A decade, hmm? The same length of time it’s been since Callum’s family was killed._

The knot in his stomach tightened further.

“If you can travel through time, why do you need me?” Dorian asked. “I only theorized about it, we never actually got it to work.”

“In the future, it does work,” the man told him confidently. “It is marvelous, but slightly unpredictable. See, the magic and energy it took to travel back so far in time… it’s left me stuck here.”

“Stuck here,” he repeated. “How far back in time did you travel?”

“A decade. The magic it took to come here fried the amulet and now it won’t work. I need you to fix it.”

“But if you went back a decade, and arrived here a decade ago, then isn’t it your time now?” Dorian asked, confused.

“I wish to be in my future, where it is ten years from now and the world will be better without that tyrant.”

Dorian seriously had doubts and a lot of questions. If this was the man who killed Callum’s family then what did this ‘Schuyler’ have to do with anything? It didn’t make any sense.

“I don’t think I can help you,” Dorian told him, shaking his head. “I studied it, yes, but we never got it to work. Have you tried speaking with Alexius?”

“He won’t help me yet,” the man sighed. “I was hoping you would so that I may return sooner.”

Dorian shook his head. “If you say Alexius will help you, then what’s a little more waiting?”

The man sighed and nodded. “Very well. Sorry for wasting your time.”

Dorian nodded, smiling at the man, relieved he would be leaving now. The man turned and Dorian watched him walk a few feet away. Then he spun back around, holding onto his staff which Dorian hadn’t quite noticed before as it had been attached to his back.

A dark feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

“One more thing,” the man said.

“Yes?” he asked hesitantly.

“I know he’s alive.”

Dread poured through his veins, all ice and freezing.

“Excuse me?” he asked, tongue heavy in his mouth as he tightened his grip on his staff.

“Schuyler Trevelyan,” the man said simply. “I know he’s alive. Perhaps going by a different name, but he lives.”

_Perhaps going by a different name._

Why hadn’t Dorian thought about that? Why would Callum continue living under his own name if there was a killer out there wanting the whole family dead? It only made sense to change his name. Perhaps Callum was Schuyler. If that was the case, though… this man called him a tyrant. Said he killed innocent people. Callum was a killer by trade, but he swore he only killed the guilty.

And Dorian would believe Callum over this man any day.

“I know you will get close to him.”

Dorian swallowed. “Whatever do you mean?”

“In the future the two of you were quite cozy.”

“O-Oh?”

“If you are hiding him – now is the time to bring him out.”

“What?”

_He thinks I’m hiding him here? Now?_

This man thought Callum was there now?

He shook his head. “I’m alone.”

_Oh, wrong answer, Dorian._

He knew it the second he said it but he couldn’t take the words back.

The man smiled. “No witnesses, then. Just how I like it.”

With that, he raised his staff and slung a spell before Dorian could even blink. Blood mages were powerful like that, though.

He didn’t see the blow that hit him, but he felt it.

And somewhere in the back of his mind he thought he heard Callum calling his name.

Then darkness.


	13. Bitter Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After checking in with Hawke and co., Callum meets the man he's been searching for after 10 long years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too sure about this chapter. It's kind of short, just barely over 3k, but I felt bad about the previous cliffhanger. On day 5 of a headache so I'm still loopy and everything, which sucks. Anyway, I might update again later tonight or tomorrow, depending when I get around to writing the next chapter. Thoughts?

Chapter Twelve: Bitter Taste

 

On the way back to Dorian’s hut, Callum checked in with Hawke, Fenris, and Anders. Hawke was completely healed and Fenris and Anders kept bickering, leaving Hawke with a headache since he already had the pressure of the decision weighing on him. He would soon have to decide if he would do as Cassandra asked and become Inquisitor. While he waited to make a decision, he, Fenris, and Anders had been staying near the Hinterlands in a cabin given to them by Cassandra, away from prying eyes for their own safety while the war continued.

It a nice little cabin and it was the first time he was there. He and Emry stood outside the door waiting for someone to answer, only to instead discover the door opening for Fenris to angrily attempt to throw Anders out of the house. Anders held his ground while glaring at the elf. Emry and Callum shared a quick look before they moved to intercept the two, standing between them.

“What’s going on here?” Callum asked.

“This _mage_ refuses to accept the responsibility for his actions and turn himself into the Templars for retribution,” Fenris muttered.

Anders rolled his eyes. “Oh, would you give it up already? You know that won’t help!”

“Have you been arguing this whole time?” Callum couldn’t help but ask, frowning at the two who stood glaring at each other.

“You were allowed to stay until Hawke was well, and he’s fine now,” Fenris said. “And it is your fault he was hurt in the first place!”

“ _My_ fault?” Anders spluttered. “I wasn’t even there! _You_ were with him!”

“Guys, stop it,” came Hawke’s voice from further in the cabin. He appeared behind Fenris’ shoulder, scowling at the two of them. “Stop behaving like children.”

“Anders has overstayed his welcome,” Fenris said.

Anders glowered at the elf. “Have you nothing to say, Hawke?”

“We could use a healer traveling with us,” Callum spoke up before Hawke could answer, as either way he answered would leave an argument commencing. Hawke shot him a look of gratitude as he didn’t wish to pick between them either.

Anders frowned. “Why?”

“Not all the time, of course, but it would be nice to have you around should we need a healer,” Callum said. “As it is I’ll be heading to Dorian’s after here, if you want to join us.”

“Go with them, mage,” Fenris said.

Anders hesitated, clearly torn between wanting to stay with his friend and wanting to help others. He seemed a decent man. It was hard to believe he was the start of this war. Callum smiled at him.

“I could make it worth your while.”

“What do you mean?” Anders asked.

“I could pay you for your services, should we need them.”

Anders glanced over Fenris’ shoulder at Hawke, who nodded.

“That’s a better deal than you got in Kirkwall,” he pointed out weakly.

Anders’ shoulders slumped. “Very well,” he said quietly, looking at the ground, obviously feeling dejected.

Callum felt bad for him. He obviously thought he was right in his actions in Kirkwall, and to each their own, but he was also trying to make up for it. Would he have to suffer the rest of his life for one mistake, even if he didn’t think it was a mistake? Perhaps he was right and the war was inevitable, but innocent lives were still taken. He honestly wasn’t sure what to think of Anders, but he was an excellent healer and he obviously wanted to help in some way, and that was admirable.

“I just came to check up on you three,” Callum said. “If we are bothering you we’ll be on our way.”

“No – you can at least stay for dinner,” Hawke said. “You can stay the night if you want.”

Callum smiled. Hawke was friendly, at least. Fenris, meanwhile, scowled further.

“Hawke,” Fenris protested.

Hawke held up a hand, silencing him. “They’re our friends, Fenris.”

“They are no friends of mine.”

_Well, aren’t we grumpy today._

Fenris had never been particularly friendly but he’d at least tried to bite his tongue on the harsh remarks since Callum retrieved Anders and managed to save Hawke. Whatever peace there was between he and Anders, however, seemed to have ended the moment Hawke was better. In a way Callum could understand Fenris’ anger – Anders did kill a lot of innocent people, and many more innocents would be killed in this war.

But once upon time they were friends, despite how they bickered. He thought that might have been why Fenris was truly so angry – he trusted Anders, at least to some extent, and maybe considered him a friend, only to have Anders betray that tentative trust by destroying the Chantry in Kirkwall and started this war. The war which inevitably led to Hawke getting injured and almost dying.

So in a way his anger was understandable.

And yet, wasn’t it time to start forgiving a few things?

Would Anders always have to pay for what happened, what he did? When was enough, enough?

“Nice to know where we stand,” Emry muttered distastefully. “It’s not like we saved Hawke’s life or anything.”

Fenris shot him a glare and Callum clapped his hands together, getting everyone’s attention even though he sort of agreed with Emry in that regard. Fenris could at least be a little more civil toward them – they did help Hawke after all. Instead they too were being given the cold soldier, but Callum blamed that on Fenris’ obvious bad mood and not the fact the elf hated them.

Because Fenris did have his moments. Moments where he could be civil and even friendly. Moments that gave Callum hope a friendship could start to form instead of an uneasy alliance. But the elf was slow to trust and that was at least partially Anders’ fault.

“Thanks for the offer,” he said amiably, inkling his head at Hawke. “We’ll happily accept.”

“We will?” Emry asked dubiously, shooting him a quick glance, clearly not agreeing with his choice.

Callum elbowed him in the ribs, eliciting a hiss of pain. “Yes. We’ll stay the night.”

Hawke smiled. “Dinner is almost ready.”

“Great – I’m famished,” Callum said.

“When aren’t you?” Emry sighed.

“Do you want another elbow to the ribs?”

“I’m going to say no,” Emry said with an obvious scowl in his voice even as Callum turned away from him to follow Hawke and Fenris further into the cabin.

“Then hush, you.”

xXx

They left early the next morning. Their goodbyes were short and soon they were traveling again, deeper into the Hinterlands toward Dorian’s hut. Callum would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to seeing the dark haired mage. He enjoyed spending time with Dorian, after all. The mage was rather interesting and made great company. He was a good friend.

Granted, Callum didn’t have a lot of friends, but he was always looking for more. He trusted Dorian and Emry with his life. They were great friends and he was lucky to have them. The thought left him smiling.

Behind him traveled Emry and Anders, both silently following him. It had been silent for the majority of their traveling that day, as Anders didn’t seem to be in a mood to talk, and neither Emry nor Callum knew what to say to him anyway. Nothing seemed appropriate.

When they entered the clearing where Dorian’s hut was, however, Callum thought his mind was playing tricks on him. Dorian and a stranger stood outside, speaking, and Callum froze in his walking which nearly caused Emry and Anders to walk into him. He stared at the tall figure with graying blonde hair. From this distance he couldn’t hear what was being said but it left a knot in his stomach anyway. This man.. could it be?

_Is that him?_

Was that the man who killed his family? And Dorian was talking to him? Did they know each other?

Too many thoughts raced through his mind them and betrayal tasted bitter in the back of his throat, leaving him fighting the urge to gag. Dorian knew the killer, and he didn’t tell Callum. In fact instead he promised to help him find the killer. Was that all a lie?

_Did he lie to me?_

Before he could think too much on it, though, the saw the figure point his staff at Dorian. Dorian’s eyes widened suddenly, and then a spell was cast. Callum watched it hit Dorian, and then, finally free to move as his legs unfroze, he darted forward toward the scene with Dorian’s name on his lips.

“Dorian!”

All thoughts of betrayal left his mind then. Even if Dorian betrayed him, had been lying to him all along, he still cared about Dorian and to see him just suddenly collapse was more than a little disconcerting. As he reached the mage’s side the stranger looked at him with a crooked smile, twirling his staff in his grip.

“So you do live,” he said in that deep, baritone voice, and something inside Callum froze.

He was ten-years-old again, facing down his family’s killer, terrified. Even as he crouched next to Dorian all he could do was stare up at the blood mage as his heart hammered away in his chest, eager to break free and flee. The mage stepped toward them with that look in his sapphire eyes, and all Callum could see was Sarabeth shaking her head as she lay dying, telling him to stay put. All he could hear was the silence after the screams. All he could smell was copper blood all around him.

_Wait…_

He looked down at Dorian then, and released this _sound_ when he realized he really did smell blood. Dorian was bleeding but he wasn’t sure from where. Blood bubbled in his mouth and slid down his nose and his breaths were these pathetic, choppy attempts. It reminded him vaguely of Emry’s latest kill with the arrow to the throat, the gurgling, gasping, then inevitably death.

Something snapped.

_No. I won’t let you die._

“Anders,” he managed to say weakly. If there was actual sound behind the words he wasn’t sure. All he knew at the moment was there was a staff aimed at him and that blood mage was smiling.

The grin of a wolf, the fangs sharp and lethal. A predator in so many ways.

_This is him. He killed my family in cold blood. And now he knows I’m alive. He’s found me._

Was this to be how it ended? Not only with his own life being taken, but Dorian’s as well? He was bad luck for everyone, it seemed.

“A pity you lived that night, Schuyler.”

It was a name he sometimes thought was a dream. That whole life was nothing but a dream – it wasn’t real. He wasn’t Schuyler – perhaps he had never been. But he knew the truth, and he knew he truly was Schuyler Trevelyan, but that name existed only in memories now. Memories which ended with fire and blood.

Now only Callum remained.

“Why?” he whispered around the lump in his throat even as his hands sought purchase on Dorian’s clothing and attempted to pull the downed mage toward him.

_Where is Anders? Emry?_

_Perhaps they’re working for him too,_ a distant voice whispered in his mind, and cold fear gripped his heart.

He wouldn’t have thought Dorian would betray him, and yet he knew the killer even as he said he didn’t and promised to help Callum. His words were bitter lies. Perhaps the same could be said for Emry, and even Anders.

_No. Emry’s my friend._

But he thought Dorian was his friend, too.

“In the future you cause a lot of trouble,” the blood mage replied. “I had to dispose of you. Sadly it seems I failed. I always wondered if you lived.”

He swallowed thickly. “Why me?”

If _he_ was the one the mage was after… then did that mean his family didn’t have to die? Their only crime was being related to him? Bile rose in his throat and he thought for certain he would be sick.

“You are a killer, Trevelyan. You will kill many innocent people who only wish for their freedom. I sought to stop it from happening.”

“What do you mean? How…? How do you know what I will do?”

“The future isn’t so far off,” the man said.

“So… you’re from the future?”

All of this was so incredibly hard to wrap his head around. All he knew was at the moment his family’s killer stood before him for the first time since that horrible night, and he felt like a child again. Scared, wishing for it to end, for retribution and justice.

Instead all he could hear was Dorian’s choked breaths and somehow that was worse than the cold fear, the gut reaction, he felt upon seeing this man again.

“Anders!” he called again, looking around.

Flame sparked to life around the man’s staff. “A pity you survived. However, I find it would be rather fitting if you died by fire. Poetic, don’t you think?”

He took a breath and closed his eyes as the man’s lips moved in the form of the spell. He was too far away to lunge at him and stop him in time. He was tired of running. Death sometimes seemed like the better option anyway. If this was to be how it ended, after the betrayal and everything, then so be it.

In the end he was tired. So tired of running, of pretending, of _searching_.

The fire never came, however. Instead the man released a hissed breath and he opened his eyes to find an arrow sticking out of the man’s shoulder, clearly distracting him. Mages could move a lot when casting spells; perhaps Emry didn’t have a clear shot.

_Or maybe he’s really working for this guy and he’s still trying to lie to you by making you think he missed._

He swallowed and watched the man back away. Upon looking around he found Anders and Emry stepping out of the trees, having kept a safe distance to determine what was happening. Or maybe they were with this man – he honestly had no idea what to believe anymore.

He wasn’t sure what was worse – the fact they could have been lying to him all this time, or the fact he so readily believed them.

“Leave him alone,” Emry snapped, glaring at the mage.

Anders shot a worried glance toward Dorian.

“He’s alive,” Callum said weakly. “Barely.”

Anders pointed his staff at the blood mage. “Be gone.”

The mage laughed. “You think you can defeat the likes of me?”

“He’s a blood mage,” Callum pointed out, though if they were in league with this man they would already know that. The thought made him nauseous.

“I don’t care if he’s the Maker himself,” Anders snapped. “Leave!”

The man’s cruel laughter filled the clearing, nearly drowning out Dorian’s gasping breaths. Callum looked down at the dark haired mage and swallowed thickly, fingers reaching out of their own accord to carefully wipe the blood away from his mouth. He was worsening – dying.

Even if he was working with the blood mage… Callum couldn’t be responsible for someone else’s death. Not again.

He took in a breath and got to his feet. “It’s me you want,” he said quietly. “Do what you will with me, but let them help Dorian.”

The man smirked. “So you do have a heart after all. I was beginning to wonder. I agree to your terms.”

“ _What_?” Emry hissed, shooting Callum a glare. “Have you taken leave of your senses? Are you crazy? He’ll kill you!”

“Yeah,” Callum murmured, shoulders drooping, “I kind of figured that out already, thanks.”

“Is this…?” Emry hesitated.

“Yes – he killed my family.”

“I didn’t kill them,” the mage said. “I merely helped them die.”

“They were your shades.”

“Ah, yes, shades. Indeed they were, but I did not do it alone.”

“You killed the other man.”

The blood mage quirked a brow. “So you were there that night. I had wondered.”

Callum swallowed. “I was there,” he said quietly. “I saw everything.”

“And yet you still escaped. I must congratulate you on your tenacity if nothing else.”

“Anders,” Callum said, looking at the healer, catching his eyes, “help Dorian. No matter what.”

Anders opened his mouth to protest, then looked at Dorian and nodded somberly. As he approached Callum and Dorian he cast a look over his shoulder at the blood mage. Emry kept his bow at the ready, arrow aiming at the mage’s throat.

“You will never be able to kill me before you yourself are dead,” the mage cautioned.

“I think I’ll take my chances,” Emry said.

“Tenacious as well, are we? Very well. Have a go at it, then.”

Callum shook his head, knowing the mage had a few tricks up his sleeve. He wasn’t sure what they were but he didn’t seem to be fearful for his life so it was better to be cautious. Besides – he didn’t want anyone else getting hurt if this man was only after him.

“Stand down, Emry,” he told the elf.

“What? Callum, you can’t be serious!”

“I am,” he said firmly. “Stand down, and help Dorian.”

“Callum-”

“Do it now!” he snapped, narrowing his eyes at the elf.

Emry snapped his mouth shut and nodded slowly even as he cast a glare at the blood mage, moving to help Anders who knelt at Dorian’s side. Callum stepped a few feet away, distancing himself from the trio so they weren’t targeted. If he could keep anyone else from getting hurt, then that was what he was going to do. He was tired of running and tired of seeing good people get hurt, especially because of him.

His whole family – dead because of him. Because this blood mage, apparently from the _future_ , had a problem with him specifically. Enough of a problem with him to come after him when he was a child, and destroy his whole family.

Dorian groaned from off to the side where Anders was working on him. Callum released a relieved breath because at least he was safe. He had faith that Anders would save him and wouldn’t let him die. Anders could fix whatever this blood mage did.

That was something, at least.

He heard faint murmurs – Dorian was conscious, if only just. Anders spoke to him, shushing him as he continued to work on him.

Callum took in a slow breath, watching his family’s killer. “Okay,” he said, holding the killer’s gaze. “Do what you will.”

“Yes, about that,” the mage said with a smirk. “I never had any intention of letting them live.”

He shifted his staff toward the trio instead, and Callum’s eyes widened as fire flickered to life around the head of the staff.

“No!” he cried as a massive fireball was sent flying toward the trio.

And he was too far away to do anything but watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's not much better cliffhanger-wise, huh? Sorry about that. Again, I will try to update soon! Feel free to comment as it makes me want to update faster!


	14. I Dreamed A Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian drifts... and dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure about this chapter but oh well ;) I felt bad about the cliffhanger again. This chapter is a little longer at 3.6k. I will try to update soon but no promises as I have a few things coming up. We'll see how it goes. Anyway - thoughts? :D

Chapter Thirteen: I Dreamed A Dream

 

Dorian drifted, and he dreamed.

He was back at his home in Tevinter, which was how he knew it was a dream. He sat up in his large, comfortable bed and looked around through the darkness of his room. The sound of quiet breathing stirred the air and he glanced over to find a warm body next to him.

This wasn’t _always_ unusual, it was just very, very rare, and usually surrounded by this guilty, foreboding feeling. Any minute now his father would enter the room and angrily escort his bedmate out of the estate. From there things would inevitably escalate into a shouting match. Suddenly he felt like a teenager again.

Everything was hazy, even his vision. Blinking rapidly did little to clear it. He reached for the warm body, confused when he felt at ease in his room. He hadn’t felt this at peace in his bedroom since he was a child, before his parents’ dreams became clear and set in stone.

His fingers connected with the shoulder of the warm body. The person next to him mumbled something incoherent and rolled over, and it seemed like the room brightened, or maybe his vision finally cleared. Either way, he could make out the face of his bedmate, which left his eyes widening.

“Callum?”

His thoughts were a whirlwind. In Tevinter he didn’t know Callum. Now he _definitely_ knew this was a dream. A very strange, bizarre dream to say the least. But in light of his recent dreams, if he remembered them correctly… then this was starting to make sense.

Callum’s eyes opened, and in them Dorian didn’t see any trace of a demon. Perhaps this was a normal dream, then. It had been known to happen, though rather rarely.

Callum smiled at him – this warm, lazy smile. Yes, he was definitely dreaming. In no world would Callum ever look at him like _that_ , which was truly a shame, as he looked quite nice like that. Dorian couldn’t help but smile back even if this was a dream, normal or otherwise. If it was a normal dream, why not enjoy it a little?

Maybe if he just gave into these dreams – the normal, non-demon kind – they would stop happening and he could finally let things get back to normal. He could stop having such dreams because this would never happen in real life, obviously. Even if Callum went for men – which, come to think of it, Dorian didn’t actually know his preference – that didn’t mean he would go for Dorian. Besides, even if he _did_ go for Dorian, it would only end up ruining their friendship and he found he rather liked having a friend, a true friend like Callum.

But he could still dream.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Morning, Dori,” Callum said sleepily, and Dorian realized the room was indeed lighter. He glanced toward the window to see the sun rising. The budding light cast soft shadows across Callum’s face.

“What are… you doing here?” Dorian couldn’t help but ask. Even as a dream this just seemed so very odd.

“What do you mean, silly? I’m always here.”

Dorian frowned. “You are?”

_I definitely think I would remember if you were._

Callum smiled. “Of course. Where else would I be?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. Are you sure you’re always here?” He took a breath. “Does my father know you’re here?”

“I should hope so, since he’s the one who let me in,” Callum said, chuckling quietly. “Unless he’s gotten a doppelganger recently.”

“My father… knows you’re here and he let you in,” Dorian repeated just for clarification.

At Callum’s confused nod, his smile dispersing slowly, Dorian fought the urge to laugh.

_That’s it. I’ve died. This is… crazy._

Absolutely crazy and this wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. It was just so… _bizarre_. So strange he couldn’t quite fathom it.

“Dori, what’s wrong?” Callum asked, sitting up, the covers falling away from him revealing his naked torso. Dorian took a quick breath.

“Nothing,” he said. “Everything’s fine.”

_If only that were true. I think I’m losing my mind._

Callum smiled again and slid closer to him. “Good. We have the day to ourselves. What do you want to do?”

_Oh, don’t ask me that._

He took in a slow breath, attempting to find the correct words but there was little he could think to say. Nothing seemed appropriate.

Callum chuckled and suddenly a hand was resting against his cheek. A soft yet callused hand that was not his own, thumb soft stroking along his cheekbone. Unconsciously he leaned into the touch. A part of him had always yearned for this, a deeper connection with someone where he didn’t have to worry about touching and being touched, but somehow he never quite felt like it would happen. In the end he gave up.

But Callum’s hand was warm against his face and suddenly that was all he could think about.

_What is this…? Why?_

His train of thought was interrupted when Callum suddenly leaned forward and connected their mouths.

Dorian had never been much for kissing – it was a little too intimate for his liking. Quick sexual pleasure, sure, but kissing seemed more intimate than that somehow. He never got much into it since everything had to happen so quickly. But at the moment it seemed great.

The kiss was light and quick, but a kiss nevertheless, and he found himself wondering why he didn’t do that more often. Kiss in general, or kiss Callum, he wasn’t sure. Either way he was confused. Why was he dreaming of this? When would he wake up? Because he would inevitably wake up.

He would wake up and this would all disappear.

Somehow that was truly saddening.

“What was that for?” he found himself asking as Callum pulled away from the kiss and the contact, his hand dropping away from Dorian’s face.

“Do I need a reason?” Callum asked, frowning at him again. “Are you sure you’re okay, Dori?”

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

Hesitation crossed Callum’s face then as he chewed on his lower lip. “Do you not like it anymore?”

_Anymore?_

Did he ever like it? He would admit it was nice to have a nickname, even if it made him sound more like a girl than anything.

“I don’t mind,” he told the rogue. “Call me whatever you want.”

“Mm, whatever?”

“Sure,” he said as Callum’s face brightened slightly.

“We should eat breakfast,” Callum said, moving to toss the covers away from his body so he could climb out of bed. “I was thinking pancakes.”

Dorian was slightly – okay, more than slightly – distracted when Callum stood to reveal he was completely naked. He had never seen Callum naked so he couldn’t know if this dream was accurate, but he had to admit he liked what he saw. He _definitely_ liked what he saw.

“You don’t have to stare, you know,” Callum said, snapping Dorian from his gazing. “You can come closer.”

Dorian took in a slow breath. “No – you were right. Breakfast is important.”

When he moved to climb out of bed he realized he was naked too. He never slept naked – he felt too exposed that way should someone enter the room – and for a moment he found his face burning as Callum smirked at him, eying him up and down like a wolf eying its prey. He found he rather liked the way the rogue looked at him then.

“Looking good, Dori.”

He shook his head, his face aflame. “Where are my clothes?”

“Who needs clothes on a beautiful day like today when we have the house to ourselves? Your parents aren’t due back for two more days.”

So apparently his parents were out of the city for some reason. That was fine with him, of course. They never got on well after he hit his teenage years.

 _“Losing – wake up soon – he – Dorian-_ ”

The words were choppy and quick, a blur in his mind but nevertheless he looked around, frowning, but he was alone with Callum. Callum, who grabbed his hand and began to lead him from the room, both of them still completely naked. He had never once left his bedroom naked in his entire life. Doing so now, even when his parents were away, left him feeling somewhat rebellious, even more so than when he fled Tevinter. Then again he fled Tevinter due to his parents’ betrayal, not rebellion.

“Did you hear that?” he asked the rogue.

“Hmm?” Callum hummed as they walked through the halls.

“A voice, it… never mind,” Dorian said, shaking his head.

_Clearly I am more out of it than I previously thought._

But this was a dream, and why not enjoy it for as long as he could? It wasn’t like this would ever happen in real life. He would wake soon, so he was going to enjoy this for now.

They entered the kitchen in his family’s home. None of the servants were around, the slaves, which was odd but Dorian was not going to question it. He didn’t like having slaves, but accepted it growing up. Since he’d been away from Tevinter, though, he found his opinion of it changing ever so slightly, inches by inches. Plus he was completely naked right now, with another naked man, and that meant he didn’t particularly want witnesses.

Callum released his hand and walked around the counter in the middle of the kitchen, reaching to pull open cabinets. “What do you wish to have, Dori?”

“Anything is fine,” he replied, eying the rogue carefully. He had no idea if this was what Callum truly looked like naked as he had never seen him without clothes, but his imagination was quite good and he looked more than appealing. He looked delicious.

As this was a dream he would soon wake from, he was going to enjoy this while he could. He was going to stare all he wanted because apparently this was perfectly acceptable.

xXx

The dream lasted a while.

They ate breakfast, chatting amicably, and then returned to the bedroom. Dorian thought he knew where this was going and felt his face flush again. He’d never been embarrassed by sex so he wasn’t sure why he felt this way now. Perhaps it was because it was in his bedroom in his old home, and he kept thinking his father would storm in any minute.

Plus Callum seemed to want to take things slow – he didn’t immediately jump onto Dorian when they entered the room. He was used to quick, stolen encounters – not this. And not with Callum, who was actually his friend. Somehow that made this… different.

So imagine his surprise when Callum _didn’t_ jump on him but instead laid out their clothes for the day. He frowned at the rogue, confused. “We’re getting dressed now, then?”

Callum smiled at him. “As much as I would love to stay naked, I don’t think your friends would appreciate it.”

“My… friends?” Dorian frowned. “I have friends?”

Callum eyed him strangely. “Of course you do,” he said slowly. “Is everything okay with you? You’re acting strange today.”

“Yes, of course, everything’s fine,” Dorian said, shaking his head, offering the rogue a smile. “I just felt like staying in today.”

“Hmm… are you feeling well?” Callum asked, quirking a brow.

“I would feel better if we stayed in today.”

_This is my dream, I shouldn’t have to do any convincing._

Callum smirked at him. “I see. I will tell them we can’t make it, then. I hope you can act sick, convincingly, because that’s the only way we’re getting out of this.”

Dorian smiled, relieved. He had no desire to speak to people he didn’t know, even if they were apparently his ‘friends’. He didn’t have friends, other than Callum. He _might_ classify Emry as one simply because they traveled together a few times and he often saw him with Callum, but-

“What about Emry?” Dorian found himself asking.

“Who?”

“Emry,” he said slowly, frowning. “Your best friend?”

“You’re my best friend, silly,” Callum said, shaking his head with a smirk. “I don’t know anyone named Emry.”

“You… don’t?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I must have just been mistaken.”

Callum frowned at him for a moment, before he shrugged and reached for Dorian. His hands landed against Dorian’s bare shoulders, pulling him toward the rogue. Dorian would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the close contact. This was a dream, after all – he was meant to enjoy it.

_“-I don’t – if he – Callum – coma-”_

That voice was back, quick and choppy just as before. Dorian snapped his head up and looked around, but again he was alone with Callum. Callum’s lips twisted into a frown as a hand landed against Dorian’s cheek, turning his head back to face him.

“What’s wrong?” Callum asked quietly. “You’re not yourself.”

“I just… you didn’t hear that?”

“Hear what?”

_“-wake up – if – gone-”_

“ _That_ ,” Dorian said, looking around again despite the hand against his cheek. “Did you hear that?”

“I didn’t hear anything. Perhaps you should lay down.”

“What? No, I’m fine.”

_I’m just hearing things, that’s all._

Then again… this was a dream. Perhaps that was the waking world. What did it say, again? Something about a coma. It also mentioned Callum. Comas were bad – was Callum in a coma? He struggled to remember what happened before he went to sleep but realized that area was surprisingly foggy.

“Dorian?”

He blinked and focused on Callum’s face, but the world was beginning to spin around him.

 _“I think he’s – finally – Dorian – hear me?_ ”

Dorian felt his heart race and he wasn’t sure why. Everything felt so incredibly fuzzy, like he was moving through a thick fog. The room blurred around him and suddenly he was alone, with Callum nowhere in sight.

“Callum?” he called into the fog around him.

_“That’s it, Dorian. Wake up.”_

xXx

Dorian surprised himself and woke up.

At first he couldn’t figure out why this was so surprising until the pain hit him and left him gasping. As soon as he gasped and attempted to sit up hands immediately pushed him back down into the softness beneath him. It wasn’t too soft but was better than the ground, and he recognized it as his bed. As he looked around the room he found he was in his bedroom area. Anders hovered over him, scowling down at him.

“Take it easy,” the healer ordered. “You very nearly died and you’re still a mess.”

Dorian blinked at him in confusion, still attempting to truly focus his vision. All he knew was everything ached and he tasted copper in his mouth. Blood, then. What happened? He struggled to remember but kept coming up empty. Maker, his head hurt.

“Do you remember what happened?”

He shook his head and immediately regretted it as his vision blurred further. “What happened to me? And… why are you here?”

He knew for a fact Anders wasn’t here last he could recall. He hadn’t seen the mage in a while. But if Anders was around then surely Callum was as well, and-

His eyes flew open wide. Memories rushed back through his mind reminding him of what happened. Callum and Emry were away, then he had a visitor. A fair haired mage with a deep voice, and _yes_ , the pieces were falling together now. He assumed it was the mage who killed Callum’s family, and after their conversation he remembered something about the man knowing Callum was alive, and then-

“Callum,” he said, looking at Anders, feeling something lurch unpleasantly in his chest when he looked around and realized the rogue was nowhere to be seen.

Instead he saw Emry watching him from the corner of the room, leaning against the wall looking rather downtrodden. He wasn’t even glaring at Dorian this time. Something happened. Something bad enough to leave Emry looking like that and not immediately scowling at Dorian like he always did.

Add to that the fact Callum was nowhere in sight…

“Where’s Callum?” he asked, struggling to sit up.

Anders pushed him back down again with a quick glare. “You were in a coma, Dorian. Take it easy and do as I say. Do not get up.”

“Where is he?” he asked again.

_Why are you not answering me?_

Emry suddenly pushed to his feet, scrubbing a hand over his face. Dorian looked at him because if anyone knew where Callum was, it would be Emry.

“There was a mage here,” he told them. “He… I don’t…”

He didn’t know how much Callum told them about his family. He didn’t want to give anything away when it wasn’t his place to do so, and yet he also wanted answers, and needed to tell them of the mage and the danger he posed.

“The mage is after Callum,” he finally settled on. “So where is…?”

_Where is he?_

“He’ll be back soon,” Anders said, pushing him back down again when he tried once more to sit up. If they wouldn’t answer him he’d find out for himself, after all, but at Anders’ words he relaxed.

_He’s safe, then._

Emry, however, stiffened and shot Anders a quick look, seemingly confused. Anders shot Emry a glare in return before looking back down at Dorian.

“It’s good you’re awake, but your wounds aren’t fully healed. I’m going to knock you out again. Any movement could cause undue damage.”

“But-” Dorian protested.

“Sleep,” Anders said. “We have much to discuss when you wake.”

Emry released this sound and spun around, facing away from them, quietly seething. The anger wasn’t directed at Dorian for once, though, which was strangely disconcerting.

He didn’t get a chance to question it further, though, as Anders cast a spell and he slipped away again.

xXx

The next time Dorian woke, the pain was noticeably better. He felt groggy as he came out of his sleep and noticed Anders was no longer hovering over him. Instead Emry sat at his bedside, expression troubled as he bounced his knee up and down agitatedly. This was very unexpected as he thought for sure Emry hated him, so why was he here now?

Upon noticing Dorian was awake Emry released a slow breath. “I need answers about the mage.”

_Oh. That explains it._

He wasn’t worried about Dorian, he just wanted answers.

Dorian looked around. “Where’s Callum? He should hear this as well.”

Surely he was back by now, right? How long had he been out?

Emry looked away. “There’s… a problem with that.”

“A problem,” Dorian repeated with a frown. Something in Emry’s voice, and that look in his eyes as he looked away, left a knot forming in Dorian’s stomach. “Where’s Callum? That mage is after him.”

“I know.”

“Then he is here, yes?”

He didn’t think Emry would let anything happen to Callum – the two were close friends. If Emry knew the mage was after Callum he would keep him safe. But if that was the case then where was he? Surely he would be here for when Dorian woke, since they were friends.

And yet he was nowhere in sight.

“Emry, be honest with me,” he said, that knot in his stomach tightening. “Where’s Callum?”

“He, um…” Emry took in a slow breath, dragging a hand across his face. He seemed rather shaky. That was not a good sign.

“Tell me,” Dorian demanded, pushing himself into a sitting position. Emry didn’t stop him so he assumed he was allowed to sit up now, which was something at least. “Tell me now. Where’s Callum?”

“He’s gone,” Emry said quietly, voice a mere breath of air.

For a long moment the words didn’t quite register. “I don’t… I don’t understand,” he said, hating the shakiness of his voice as he struggled to comprehend what Emry was saying. “Anders said he would be back soon.”

“He lied.”

“He… what? Why would he…?”

_What? Why would he lie? Where’s Callum? What do you mean by ‘gone’?_

He had so many questions and yet his voice had stopped working. The knot in his stomach had doubled, with part of it lodging in his throat leaving him swallowing thickly.

“He wanted you to remain calm and rest, so he lied.”

“Then… Then where’s Callum?”

“Gone.”

“What does that _mean_?”

_Is he…? Does he still live?_

This was very important to Dorian – more important than Anders lying to him, though he was upset about that.

Callum was his only friend at the moment – where was he? Tidbits of his dream slipped into his mind and seemed to make the knot tighten further. What would he do if that was all he had left? He had never been quite so sentimental, and yet this… was troublesome. More worrisome.

 _What do I do if…_?

“What happened?” he demanded, though his voice sounded strange even to his own ears.

“The mage separated us. Callum offered himself so we could help you.”

“What?” Dorian gasped, staring at him. “Why would he…?”

“You’re important to him,” Emry said, biting down on his lower lip. “At least, you were.”

“ _Were_?”

_No, don’t use past tense._

Past tense meant…

“Tell me what happened.”

“The mage went back on his word and shot a fireball at us. Anders managed to create a strong enough barrier – I think he used the last of Justice’s power to do so, but I don’t know for sure.”

“Yes, that’s all very nice, but what happened to Callum?”

That was all he cared about at the moment. All that mattered.

Emry closed his eyes, releasing a semi-shaky breath, and Dorian knew he would not like his next words.

_He’s dead. He’s gone. He’s dead because of me._

He was attempting to prepare himself for this revelation and yet Emry shocked him by his response.

“He used some kind of amulet, opened a portal… then took Callum through it. We haven’t been able to find him since.”


	15. Waiting is the Hardest Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian waits for Callum to show up, but he might be waiting for a while. Another dream leaves him with more questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might come back later and tack more onto this chapter. If I do so I will make note of it somewhere, I guess. Anyway - really tired right now due to my meds so I apologize for typos/inconsistencies/etc. Anyway, guys, you have been so awesome so far! Keep it up, yes? Thoughts? :D

Chapter Fourteen: Waiting is the Hardest Part

 

“I need to speak with Alexius immediately.”

“It won’t do any good.”

Dorian glared at Emry, who stood crestfallen in front of him. A day after it was revealed the blood mage took Callum through some kind of portal, and they had made no headway so far. He demanded answers and got the full story from Anders and Emry, but they were no closer to finding Callum. Callum, who was currently in the hands of a madman who could apparently time travel. They could be anywhere, _anytime_ , and Dorian couldn’t fight the overwhelming sensation of a rising despair.

Ever since Emry said Callum was gone, it had been there, waiting, and as the minutes, hours, and now days ticked past without them making any progress, he noticed it all the more as the feeling jumped into the forefront of his mind, consuming his every thought. This was, of course, when his mind didn’t see fit to bombard him with memories of his dream when he was in a coma – the dream where he was back in Tevinter, life was going well, he got on with his parents, and Callum was there, alive and well.

“How can you say that?” he asked Emry, swallowing at the despair written across the elf’s face. Emry had already given up. “He’s your best friend.”

“Yes – and that blood mage wanted him dead,” Emry said quietly. “It’s been almost two weeks, Dorian. There’s no way he’s alive.”

 _Two weeks_.

He’d known that, of course. It was one of his first questions after realizing Callum had been taken. He’d asked how long he was out, how much time they’d already wasted worrying about him when they should have been looking for Callum. Still it was a shock to hear he had been out for nearly a week in a coma, and a few more days after waking from the dream while Anders finished healing him. Apparently the blood mage did quite a number on him, which just left that knot in his stomach tightening. If he could do that to Dorian, who was a mage, he could do so much worse to Callum. And without Anders there to heal the rogue…

“So you will simply give up?” he demanded of Emry, attempting to brush away his own doubts. Callum was a fighter and Dorian meant what he said in Ostwick. Callum survived for a reason, and it wasn’t to just simply die now.

Emry took in a slow breath, releasing it shakily. Dorian knew this was hard for him. He hadn’t seen Emry close to anyone else, after all – perhaps Callum was his only friend, as well. The two had known each other for years. It had to be so much worse for him right now, than Dorian. But that did little to halt the intense desperation flooding through him as memories of his dream, of the feel of Callum’s mouth against his own in a light, fleeting touch, danced through his mind, taunting him.

“I don’t know what else to do,” Emry murmured, shoulders slumping in defeat as his gaze lowered toward the ground. A part of Dorian was relieved, as he didn’t like the sadness written in those dark eyes. And yet he hated the defeated posture more. “The mage was determined to kill him. He’s strong. He took you down without a fight.”

Dorian bristled slightly, but Emry was right. He didn’t even have a chance to defend himself before the pain hit and he lost consciousness. If his memory was correct, he heard Callum call his name just before he fell. He could only imagine what was going through the rogue’s head at that point, seeing Dorian talking with the mage who killed his family. He had to know Dorian was on his side, not the blood mage’s. He had to know Dorian wouldn’t betray him like that.

At least, Dorian hoped he knew, but as Callum was nowhere to be found, he had no way of finding out.

His hands curled into fists at his sides as he looked over toward Anders, who had thus far remained silent in his corner of the room. “And what do you think?” he asked the healer. “Have you given up as well?”

Anders hesitated, which wasn’t a good sign. Dorian swallowed, realizing he might be alone in his search. “I don’t know him very well,” Anders finally said. “You would know his chances better than I.”

Dorian sighed, as Emry would know the chances better than anyone, having known Callum the longest, and even he thought he was already dead. Therefore searching for him was a moot point. And yet, leaving him in the hands of a madman… even _dead_ … it just felt so incredibly wrong.

“We’re finding him,” Dorian said, looking at the both of them. “Do you hear me?”

“He’s gone, Dorian,” Emry said quietly, like the words cut him coming out, all barbed hooks against his throat and mouth. “Let it go.”

“Let it go?” Dorian repeated, glaring at the elf. “That’s all you have to say? I thought you were his friend!”

“I am his friend!” Emry snapped, glaring back at him for the first time since Dorian awoke. He was oddly relieved to see the glare, though right now, he found all he really wanted was the rogue to walk through the door. “He told me to look after _you_ , okay? He said no matter what!”

Dorian snapped his mouth shut then, as this was news to him. He found it hard to process at the moment, though, as he couldn’t handle any distractions right now. He had to focus solely on figuring out how the time amulet worked, and figure out how to find Callum before it was too late.

_It is too late, Dorian. Listen to Emry._

He closed his eyes.

_Even if it’s too late, and it’s my fault he’s dead, I will find him and give him a proper burial._

It was the least he could do.

And it was all he could allow himself to think about right now. If he focused any more about finding him after it was too late, even if Emry was certain it was, then he wouldn’t be able to function right now. This was all his fault, after all. Had he just attacked that mage when he had the chance... instead of speaking with him… had he not let his guard down…

_I led him right to Callum._

And even after witnessing Dorian speak to the blood mage, Callum handed himself over so Anders could save Dorian. Even if the blood mage betrayed them and attempted to kill them anyway, Callum still gave himself up without a fight, for Dorian. This was all Dorian’s fault and he’d never forgive himself if it was too late.

_I’ll find you. I promise._

“You know him best,” Dorian said quietly, looking at Emry, refusing to use past tense. “Do you truly think he’s beyond hope? That he wouldn’t fight tooth and nail?”

Emry hesitated, and Dorian hoped he was swaying him. Listening to him repeatedly say Callum was dead was more than a little disconcerting. In fact it left him feeling more shaky each time he heard the words, as memories of his dream slammed into him, mixing with the guilt he already felt.

“Okay,” Emry finally sighed, swallowing thickly. “Even if he’s dead… we still need to find him. We owe him that much.”

Dorian wanted to smile and express his gratitude that Emry would help him in his search, but couldn’t find the strength to do so. Instead he grimaced and tried to remember where Alexius said he was going.

If anyone knew how the amulet worked, it would be Alexius.

xXx

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. Four months passed with no word from Callum, or the blood mage. No one had seen or heard from the rogue. No body had been found either, that Dorian knew of, but each day that passed felt like an eternity.

He had yet to be able to track down Alexius, as he’d moved on from where he’d told Dorian he would be. Dorian attempted to split his time between searching for Callum, traveling all over the Hinterlands and even as far as the Hissing Wastes, and attempting to locate Alexius. Thus far all his efforts had failed.

There was no sign of either of them.

The winter months in the Hinterlands were as cold as he thought they’d be, and even worse. He could never quite seem to get warm these days, no matter where he traveled. There was always snow on the ground, a chill in the air, and this growing _something_ in the pit of his stomach leaving him breathless at times.

Try as he might to do as Emry – and even Hawke – said and attempt to focus on other things, he found he couldn’t do as they asked. Doing other things meant giving up on Callum and he wasn’t quite ready to do that just yet. Not when this was all his fault. Not when Callum only agreed to go with the blood mage – _and maybe to his death_ – so Anders and Emry could help Dorian.

_All my fault. I’m sorry, my friend._

He took in a slow breath from where he stood in a clearing, surrounded by familiar faces and yet he still felt so alone. In Tevinter he’d always been surrounded by people but had heard one could feel alone in a crowd. Now he felt alone more than ever, each passing day allowing the despair to sink in even further.

_Give it up, Dorian. He’s dead. It’s been four months._

He knew that. And he knew there was only a slim chance Callum was still alive, but he held onto that hope nevertheless. He couldn’t quite understand how determined he was to find Callum. Despite his dream the two were not romantically involved in any possibly way. They were only friends, and even Emry – who was Callum’s _best friend_ – didn’t seem quite as determined as him.

But then Emry was following Callum’s last orders by attempting to watch out for Dorian. And he did have a point – the blood mage wanted Callum dead and he’d taken Dorian down like he was nothing. He was powerful, even without the time amulet. And they had no way of finding Callum due to that amulet, which the mage had said was out of power.

It clearly had enough left for one more travel through time, though.

_But perhaps not a lot._

If he only transported them through time and not location… then perhaps where they needed to be staying was back at his hut. Sure, it might take months – _maybe even years_ – before Callum and the blood mage showed up but they would eventually, and when they did, it would be like a second passed for them instead of real time. Callum would still be alive as it would be right when they went through the portal.

_Of course. So there’s still a chance._

“We need to get back to the hut,” he said quietly.

Get back to his hut and hope it wasn’t too late, that Callum and the blood mage hadn’t already shown up and disappeared again.

xXx

“This is crazy,” Emry said.

“Then leave,” Dorian said, tired of the elf’s constant negativity.

“What are you going to do, stare at that spot forever?”

“If I have to.”

Another month passed with them waiting at the hut. Anders had returned with Hawke and Fenris to search with them, as at least Hawke wanted to help search for Callum. While they waited here, Hawke, Fenris and Anders were searching elsewhere. So far they hadn’t found anything, and somehow Dorian doubted they would.

_They’ll show up eventually. They have to._

_Unless,_ a darker part of his mind whispered, _they already showed up while you were away, and you’ll never find them._

The thought left him unable to sleep at night.

That, and the fact when he slept he dreamed, and by this point his dreams were merely taunting him.

_Why do I care so much…_

He truly had no response to that other than Callum was his friend. He didn’t have many of those.

_You know that’s not true. There’s more._

Perhaps there was but he couldn’t focus on that right now. Instead he had to worry about finding Callum. Everything else could wait. He could deal with the dreams and whatever he might feel later when things were normal again. Nothing else mattered until then.

_This is all my fault, after all._

He should have attacked the blood mage instead of speaking with him. This was all his fault for letting his guard down, and Callum had to pay for it. That didn’t seem fair. Again he could only imagine what Callum was thinking in those final moments before he disappeared through the portal. Did he think Dorian betrayed him?

The knot in his stomach tightened. Bile rose in his throat once more, which was a familiar feeling these days. He found he didn’t quite have an appetite but to be fair, neither did Emry. Emry was quieter than usual, not his typical angry self when in Dorian’s presence. He was taking Callum’s final words seriously, and Dorian so hated to use that phrasing. They weren’t his final words because he would show up eventually, and Dorian would fix this. They would help Callum and deal with the blood mage.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Emry said one day, out of the blue. He’d been quiet all day, as usual, but he sighed from where he sat near Dorian’s window.

“Then leave,” Dorian told him yet again. Even as he spoke the words he found he didn’t like the thought of being alone right now, when there was still snow on the ground, a chill in the air, and that _something_ in his stomach.

Emry looked at him. There was no glare to be found in his gaze, just this blank stare Dorian had grown accustomed to by this point. Emry rarely held anything in his gaze these days – just this dull, flat look. A look which symbolized his feelings. He’d given up hope. Dorian just couldn’t do that.

It was true he didn’t know Callum very long – just under a year, really, before his disappearance – but he enjoyed his company more than others. He enjoyed their friendship though short it was. And he hated the guilt he felt every time he thought of the sandy-haired rogue these days. A part of him tried to do as Emry asked and give up this hunt if only to move on with his life, but he just couldn’t do that. Not yet. He wasn’t sure when he’d be able to do that, but right now he just simply couldn’t.

Because he knew, deep down, that Callum wouldn’t give up on him if their roles were reversed, and somehow that made all the difference.

“Dorian… I know he was your friend, but-”

Dorian got to his feet abruptly, cutting Emry off. “If you do not wish to stay, then leave. Meanwhile, I will be _here_. Waiting.”

“It’s been five months, Dorian,” Emry told him quietly, as though Dorian didn’t know how long it had been. “Almost half a year. If what you say is true and the amulet didn’t have much power left, then how far into the future could they travel, really? And who’s to say they went into the future? What if they went into the past?”

It was the most the elf had spoken in days, and it left Dorian snapping his mouth shut. As much as he hated to admit it, Emry had a point. For all they knew, the blood mage could have taken them further into the past. If that was the case they might never find Callum.

If that was the case he was probably dead.

“No,” he found himself saying, shaking his head slowly. “No, the mage spoke of wanting to go back to the future. I don’t think he would linger in the past, he would try to get as close to the future as he could.”

_There’s still a chance._

A chance Callum would be okay. That everything would be okay. He wasn’t sure when ‘everything’ became tied to Callum’s safety, or his untimely death, but somehow that was the case. He couldn’t dwell on it now.

Thinking about it too much left his head aching, and something gnawing deep inside him. He didn’t particularly like that feeling, at all.

“It’s been five months,” Emry said again.

“I know that,” Dorian snapped, glaring at the elf, feeling his temper rise from the desperation gnawing at his gut, which grew worse with each passing day. He never would have thought one person’s disappearance would affect him so much, and yet it did.

It really, truly did, and he wasn’t sure how to make things right again.

Wasn’t sure if things _could_ be made right again.

“Then you must know… how bad things look.”

“I do know,” he admitted with a sigh, rubbing the heel of his palm into his eyes, feeling another headache rising. “I know it’s a long shot. I know it’s been five months. _I know_. If you don’t wish to wait, then leave. You’ve more than done your part. I’m perfectly healed – there is no reason to linger if you don’t wish to do so.”

He turned away from the elf, then, and stalked into the kitchen.

He had no real reason to go in there, but needed to get away from prying eyes for at least a moment. He felt like he was suffocating in his own hut and he hated every minute of it.

_Air. I need air._

Except it was snowing outside, and he had very little that was actually warm to wear. He hated the cold. He hated the way this hut felt these days. He hated a lot of things right now and he blamed it all on Callum.

Callum got him this hut, after all. Callum visited him, brought him books and whatever he might need, paying for him so Dorian wouldn’t have to find a job since Callum made more than enough, apparently. All he asked in return was a place to stay when he visited Dorian, and his visits were quite frequent. Dorian hadn’t noticed it so much before, but in the past five months he realized how empty it all felt with Callum’s absence.

The hut was silent, the atmosphere was thick, and it was freezing outside, and inside too.

Everything was wrong, and he didn’t know what to do about that.

xXx

“Dori…”

A voice echoed through the darkness around him. Dorian spun, searching, but saw no one through the thick fog.

“Dori…”

He knew that voice, but this wasn’t real. Couldn’t be real. He closed his eyes and willed himself to wake up, but upon opening them again, he found himself in the same place. Except now the darkness, the fog, was lifting, revealing the light of his hut as he stood in the kitchen.

“Dori.”

He spun toward the voice and released this _sound_ when he saw the familiar figure standing there, smirking at him.

“Callum,” he said, and if his voice sounded like barbed hooks against raw skin, he didn’t doubt it. He didn’t realize he was moving until he had enveloped Callum in his arms, holding him tightly, feeling a tiny piece of his world finally slip back into place.

For the moment, he could breathe.

He closed his eyes and did just that.

The moment couldn’t last, though, as this was just a dream.

“You want this so badly, don’t you, Dorian?”

He swallowed and opened his eyes, pulling away just enough to peer at Callum’s face. The glow in his eyes left him swallowing thickly. The desire demon was back, in Callum’s form, with that face Dorian had begun to forget. Five months since his departure, his disappearance, and that was all it took for the image of him in Dorian’s mind to become fuzzy, for the memory of his voice to lose its signature cadence.

Five months and he forgot.

“Go away, demon,” he said.

Callum smirked. “You don’t really want that, do you, Dori?”

He bristled, glaring as he released the demon wearing Callum’s face. “Don’t call me that.”

“But it’s such a cute little name. And you know you like it.”

“I said stop.”

“You miss him, don’t you?”

He took in a slow breath. “Why are you doing this? What do you want?”

“I wish only to give you what you desire.”

He shook his head. “I told you, I’m not making a deal with you, so leave me alone.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“And why is that?” he asked, glaring.

“Because it’s not what you desire.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“You miss him.”

He shook his head and snapped his mouth shut. Arguing further would not be wise, he was certain, as they would only keep running in circles.

“Perhaps a hint would help.”

That brought him up short. “A hint?” he asked, frowning. “What do you mean?”

The demon smiled, then, Callum’s lips twitching upward. “You desire to know if he lives, yes?”

“Don’t toy with me, demon.”

“Would I toy? With you?” Callum’s eyes fluttered innocently.

Dorian shook his head and spun away from the demon. “Leave me be. I’m done speaking with you.”

“He lives.”

That left him stiffening. Two simple words he was certain was a lie, as the demon would say anything to get him to make a deal with it, but he couldn’t bring himself to ignore it. He couldn’t ignore the pang of _something_ that shot through him at those words. So he turned around and found Callum right behind him.

He looked so much like the real thing it hurt.

_I miss my friend._

He finally admitted it to himself.

He didn’t just miss the company, he missed his friend. His only friend. He missed Callum.

And if this demon spoke the truth, no matter how slim the chance, he was going to listen no matter what.

“He lives?” he asked around the lump in his throat.

Callum smiled. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“If you’re toying with me-”

“He lives. Though not for much longer.”

Dorian drew in a quick breath. “What does that mean? What do you know?”

The demon laughed, and Callum’s voice was rich through the air, a sound he barely remembered. “That would be telling, Dorian. I said I would only give you a hint.”

And with that the image of Callum began to flicker. He became less solid, the dream dispersing, the demon leaving, and Dorian lurched forward, fingers clutching for purchase against anything – a wrist, skin, clothing, _anything_ – but his fingers just slipped through the shadowy image.

“Wait,” he said, eyes wide. “Don’t go!”

_I have questions! You have to tell me!_

The last thing he heard was Callum’s laughter around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. I don't know when the next update will be, as I'm in a bit of a rut. It might be a day or two, maybe more, depending on when inspiration will decide to grace me again with its presence. Anyway - comments do help me get more motivated :D


	16. Battle of Blades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian's waiting finally pays off, but all is not well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if I like this chapter, but I hope it sounds okay. I wrote half of it when I was half asleep and I wanted to add more to the beginning, but never got around to it. Anyway, I hope you like it :) I also wasn't sure how to end this chapter, so... xD Thoughts?

Chapter Fifteen: Battle of Blades

 

It was the clove of seasons, with winter finally giving way to spring. There was green life around Dorian’s hut for the first time in a while. He could hear birds chirping, and the bears were prowling about, woken from their slumber. They hated the cold as much as Dorian, it seemed. He eyed a nug as it ran around in front of his hut before finally scampering off, ears flopping everywhere. When he first got this hut he enjoyed watching the smaller creatures of wildlife. He enjoyed the greenery as it was so different from living in his family’s estate in Tevinter.

Now it did little for him.

So very little. Where once he watched the wildlife with rapt attention, he now looked away when no one stood there to greet him. He was alone in his hut as he had been for nearly two weeks now. Emry promised to check in when he would be in the area, but who knew how long that would be. Dorian was alone in his hut and where once he found a small bit of peace here, he hated it with every fiber of his being.

Even the trees seemed to be mocking him these days. Every time he looked outside things were so alive, with new leaves barely large enough to blow in the still chilly breeze. Animals came out of their winter comas, or finally returned from the north where it was much warmer. There was life budding around him and he couldn’t enjoy any of it because of some misplaced sense of guilt.

Seven months had passed since Callum disappeared into a time portal. Seven long months of searching, of waiting, and hoping. Seven long months of having his hopes crushed time and time again when the rogue still didn’t show up. Emry gave up hope, mourned, and returned to work. Or, at least, that was what he told Dorian. Dorian knew otherwise, though.

He knew Emry would look for Callum in his own way, despite what he said. He mourned, yes, but he wasn’t over the loss of his friend, not by a long shot. And Dorian hated thinking about it because he didn’t understand this _loss_. It wasn’t as though he were overly attached to Callum – he didn’t know him more than a year, after all. Why, then, did he feel like this all the time these days?

Why did he feel so empty? So… incomplete? Merely at the loss of one friend.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t lost friends before. Usually to pressure and social standing in Tevinter, and not to time travel and potential death, but still, he’d lost dear friends. Or, at least, people he considered friends. Looking back on it, it was all so trivial. Children didn’t know better – they would befriend anyone. But when it started to matter they pulled away from Dorian, especially if they learned of his… _affliction_ , as his father so aptly called it.

_That’s just it. In the end everyone always leaves._

He should have seen this coming. Certainly, some part of him must have as he hadn’t tried getting cozy with Callum, even though the blood mage said they were ‘quite cozy’ in the other timeline. But that timeline didn’t exist. That timeline ended with the death of Callum’s family, and Dorian was left adrift in this new timeline where Callum was missing.

He tried to ignore the twisting in his gut every time he thought about it. Every time he thought about the rogue, or about giving up and moving on. He couldn’t – Callum wouldn’t give up on him, after all. He had to see this through, even if at the end of the journey all he found was a dead body.

By this point that was what he expected to find, though he hated to admit it.

He still had hope but it was growing thinner by the day, a fine thread spread too far. It would soon rip and tear and fall apart.

Callum was almost certainly dead.

Almost certainly.

But it was that small bit of hope, that _almost_ , that left him waiting. Left him waiting and watching, day after day, as time slid past. Hours, days, weeks – months. Seven of them in fact. Seven long months of doing nothing but waiting.

Waiting for Callum and the blood mage to step out of the portal.

For all he knew, though, Emry was right and they went back in time instead of forward. Or, for all he knew, they emerged from the portal while Dorian was in the Hissing Wastes, searching far and wide for the rogue when he should have stayed home and waited.

Somehow, that held little meaning now. This was not home. Home didn’t feel so… _empty_.

There was also the nagging doubt that, as far as he knew, when time traveling they could transport location as well. If that was the case then Dorian was wasting his time waiting here, and Callum was dead. He had to be. Seven long months of waiting, and if he appeared elsewhere, even if he still lived, Dorian would not make it to him in time to stop the blood mage from killing him.

Why take him through a time portal? Why not just kill him?

He remembered Emry mentioning something about Anders, using the last of Justice’s power. From the stories he heard, Justice was very powerful. If that was the case it might have been enough to at least cause the blood mage’s confidence to waver, if ever so slightly, which left him fleeing in case things went south. That would give him an excuse to take Callum through a portal and dispose of him later.

_Dispose. Such an ugly word._

And it truly was, but he had no other way to describe it, and it left his skin crawling. To think the mage would simply kill Callum and dispose of his body without a care as to who Callum was, who he could be in the future. Ending a life didn’t just mean killing someone, it meant killing all that person could possibly become. Death was the end of possibility.

And Callum had so much potential. Not just as Dorian’s friend, but on his own as a rogue assassin. He said he didn’t hurt innocent people and Dorian believed him. If that was the case then he was truly a good person, as Dorian thought in the first place, and he had never asked for a thing in return from Dorian, even after securing him this hut and offering to pay for his needs.

He did all of that without a care for himself, and Dorian had never seen such selflessness in Tevinter, nor in southern Thedas apart from Callum, from what he had seen thus far of the place.

All these thoughts left his head spinning. He couldn’t concentrate very well these days. Perhaps Emry was right, and it was time to call off the search. He might never find out what happened to Callum.

Giving up wasn’t an option, but simply waiting here for months on end was no way to live his life.

Callum wouldn’t want this for him.

And why did he care so blighted much?

_I’ve gone mad. That’s the only explanation._

He sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, willing his budding headache away.

Then he heard a sound – like something crackling, but not quite that of lightning or a fire. It was this strange sound he’d never heard before, and when he snapped his head up to look out his window once more, he could hardly believe his eyes.

_I’m dreaming. That demon is back to make me another offer._

It was the only explanation.

But even if this was a dream and it was a demon doing this, he found he didn’t care. Instead he moved by instinct and threw the door open, quickly stepping outside in time to see the blood mage stumble through the portal with his staff raised at the other figure next to him. A figure with sandy hair and a short, thin frame. A figure with familiar daggers resting on his back.

“ _Callum_ ,” he found himself whispering, but there was no breath behind the words, leaving them inaudible. He could scarcely believe his eyes.

After all this waiting, for so long, it finally happened.

The portal finally arrived, closing behind them as they walked out of it. And there was Callum in all his glory, standing facing down the blood mage who murdered his family. Though his back was to Dorian, he knew it was him, and he could picture the steely look of determination in his eyes.

His copper-green eyes.

It had been so long Dorian forgot what they truly looked like anymore. Even the demon in his dreams couldn’t quite get it right, which was how he always knew it was the demon and not Callum. Even in his own dreams, without the presence of the demon, the image of Callum was fading, leaving him mostly blurry, a vague image of someone he used to know, someone he used to admire.

And now that person was back.

With a staff aimed at him.

Dorian quickly grabbed his own staff and hurried toward the scene. At the sound of his approach the blood mage glanced over at him, peering over Callum’s shoulder, and his smirk was predatory.

“Ah,” he said with that deep, baritone voice which left chills inching down Dorian’s spine, “you lived.”

At his words, Callum spun around and his eyes landed on Dorian.

Dorian’s breath caught in his throat and for the first time in seven long months, he felt something broken inside of himself repair itself, rough around the edges, but back together all the same. The sound he released could have been a sigh, could have been some kind of grunt, but that didn’t matter. Instead he walked toward the two of them, stopping only scant meters away, not wanting to do anything too rash and leave the blood mage finishing what he started.

_Think, Dorian. Pull yourself together, or Callum will die here._

He thought back on that one dream with the demon, when it told him Callum was alive, but wouldn’t be for long.

_I won’t let that happen._

He readied his staff, gaze still focused on those copper-green eyes he hadn’t realized he had missed so much. He was getting soft, too attached, and he’d known that for months now, but somehow that didn’t matter right now. Not right now when his friend was finally back where he belonged, safe and sound.

Well – he was whole, but he wasn’t safe.

Not yet.

“Dorian,” Callum said softly, voice a mere breath of air as he stared at the dark haired mage like he couldn’t believe his eyes. To Callum, though, only seconds had passed. In his mind, a few seconds ago he saw Dorian dying on the ground with Anders working on him. Now Dorian was hale and whole.

“Callum,” he found himself saying, lips moving on their own, and a part of him hated that he said the name like a prayer. He still couldn’t believe his eyes. If this was a dream it was rather elaborate, and he found he didn’t care.

“This is all very touching,” the blood mage said, before fire flickered around his staff, which was aimed at Callum’s side now, since Callum was still half facing Dorian. “But I’m afraid it must end.”

Callum took in a slow breath, shoulders slumping. His expression softened and yet hardened at the same time, and he had the nerve to smile.

Something snapped.

Dorian snarled and raised his staff, pointing it at the blood mage. He cast a quick ice spell which seemed to catch the blood mage off guard. He seemed to think Dorian wouldn’t attempt such a thing with Callum so close to him. Indeed a part of the spell hit Callum, leaving the rogue wincing and quickly stepping away from the chill, but that was the least of Dorian’s worries right now.

“Don’t you touch him,” Dorian snapped, glaring at the blood mage, staff still raised and ready to fire again.

“And what are you going to do about it?” the blood mage asked, recovered from Dorian’s attack, taken by surprise more than anything.

“Don’t touch him,” Dorian said again.

“What are you going to do if I do this?”

And then Callum crashed to his knees, hands shooting toward his head as he released this muffled grunt of pain, and Dorian snarled. It was this raw, primal sound arising from deep inside of him in a place he hadn’t known existed, and a second later he was muttered a spell.

He was a necromancer, after all.

He summoned spirits to attack the blood mage, and attack him they did, fueled by Dorian’s anger. Callum stopped making that pained noise though he still clutched at his head and panted heavily, attempting to catch his breath as the blood mage swore under his breath – in Tevene – and quickly cast a barrier around himself, shielding him from the attack.

It gave Dorian enough time to make it to Callum’s side, standing over him, keeping his gaze locked on the blood mage.

“Get up,” he breathed.

Callum released a shaky breath. “Dorian – I don’t feel so well.”

“Get up,” he said again.

“I taste blood.”

“ _Get up right now_ ,” he snapped, casting a quick horror spell, which caught the other mage by surprise but otherwise seemed ineffective. The mage’s lips pulled back in a wolfish snarl.

Callum climbed to his feet, though he was still hunched over a little, holding his head with one hand as he peered at the blood mage.

“Are you going to hide behind your mage friend?” the blood mage sneered. “Or will you face me like a man?”

“Leave,” Dorian said firmly. “You will not harm him.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“You won’t hurt him again.”

“Dorian,” Callum said softly from next to him, and a chill crawled up Dorian’s spine, though it wasn’t entirely unwanted. A hand landed on his shoulder, warm and familiar, and he released a shaky breath at the contact. “Stand down. I won’t have you hurt again because of me.”

“Because of you?” he repeated with a frown. “None of this is your fault.”

“It is,” Callum said softly.

“We’ll discuss this later,” Dorian promised.

Right now he could only focus on the blood mage, and making sure he didn’t harm Callum again, or disappear with him again.

The blood mage disappeared then, using a fade step. Dorian rarely used such a thing but it had its uses, traveling briefly through the Fade. He reappeared directly behind Dorian then, closer to Callum, and he spun around already chanting a spell. Callum had his daggers drawn, ready for action should he be able to get close enough to the killer.

As Dorian slung his spell at the mage, the blood mage spun a spell of his own, flinging it at Callum just as Dorian’s hit landed. Lightning struck around Callum before finally hitting him, leaving him stiffening and jerking all in one motion, teeth gritted, before he collapsed in one limp heap.

“Callum!” he called worriedly, but he couldn’t lose focus right now or they’d both be dead. He forced himself to look away and worry about him later, though that was incredibly hard to do at the moment as all he could picture right then was the way the rogue’s eyes rolled into the back of his head before he collapsed, and the swift, jerking motions as the lightning rolled through him.

Lightning spells could be quite deadly, and this blood mage was wanting to kill him. Dorian tried not to think of what that meant and readied his own lightning spell in retaliation. A lightning storm surrounded him briefly, but didn’t strike him, instead moving toward the blood mage. The blood mage’s barrier was no match for Dorian’s retaliation, fueled by his anger and suppressed worry. Before the mage could retaliate himself, Dorian quickly froze him in place, which was easy to do with his barrier finally gone. With a snarl he jammed his staff against the ground as lightning spread across the dirt and dead grass in a line toward the other mage.

And then Dorian watched _his_ body jerk and sway, before the blood mage shouted and disappeared again, using another fade step. Dorian was really beginning to hate that spell. He spun around, looking for the mage, only to have him reappear directly next to him. Taken by surprise at the blood mage’s sudden closeness – most mages preferred to keep their distance, after all, as it was easier to cast that way – Dorian was unprepared for the mage to suddenly spin his staff around and lung at him with his staff blade.

Dorian twisted away at the last minute, guided purely by instinct as the need for survival flooded through him, leaving the blow hitting his side, slicing across his ribs, instead of sealing itself in his gut. The pain was quick and raw but his survival instinct was strong, and that was all his mind would let him think about right now. Ignoring the pain he twisted his own staff in his grip, lashing out at the blood mage on his own.

Using magic through a staff was an art form, really. It required a steady hand and swift movements at times, along with steely concentration. Dorian had been studying his movements from a young age, when he got his first staff at age ten, learning basic incantations before then. Now he used the swift movements to his advantage and the blood mage, taken by surprise due to Dorian’s ability to partially dodge his own staff blade, was unable to do anything as Dorian’s staff blade landed firmly in the swell of his chest, easily cutting through skin, tissue, and muscle.

The blood mage hissed and gurgled as blood flowed from the wound when Dorian yanked the blade free. Unlike when he first killed someone with his staff blade so long ago, when first starting to travel with Callum, he felt no guilt or remorse for taking this man’s life. In fact, all he felt was relief as the mage crashed to his knees, losing blood at an alarming rate.

Dorian had never been fond of the sight of blood.

He turned away and looked toward Callum instead, except the rogue wasn’t there. Frowning, he spun in a slow circle and finally found the rogue leaning over the blood mage, a dagger held at the mage’s throat. Hushed words were spoken, angry whispers and the blood mage smiled.

Dorian noticed the faintest twitch of the mage’s hands, the only warning of the coming attack. He opened his mouth to call out to Callum, somehow warn him or do something, but he was too far away to do much of anything except watch.

The staff blade, broken off the staff and held firmly in the blood mage’s hand, dug deep into Callum’s side. The same side which had been injured so long ago and had poured blood all over Dorian’s floor. Except now, as the blood mage twisted it and yanked it out with the last of his strength, the blood stained the dead grass as Callum clutched at his side and slid his dagger across the blood mage’s throat in one quick movement.

The blood mage gurgled and gasped, blood spurting from the wound with each beat of his heart. The blade fell from his hand as his head fell back and landed on the ground, mouth open wide and blood slipping from the corner of his parted lips.

Dorian didn’t care about that, though.

He blinked and he was at Callum’s side as the rogue fell back from his crouching position, sitting heavily on the ground, hand held firmly to the wound on his side. Dorian’s own side ached but the wound didn’t feel that deep, and he could worry about that later. It wasn’t as important as Callum’s wound.

“Let me see,” he said quickly, reaching for Callum’s hand, prying the red fingers away from his side as Callum hissed in pain. “Sorry – I need to see the – Maker…”

The wound was bad, and bleeding heavily. Dorian’s mind raced. Anders was away and the healer they sought before wasn’t in the nearby town anymore. She had moved to Redcliffe as the war grew worse and mages, Templars, and innocent people kept dying.

And now, after seven long months, Callum was going to be one of them.

_No. I won’t let that happen. I won’t._

He waited seven months for the rogue to reappear; he wasn’t going to let him die now.

He grabbed Callum’s arm and threw it around his shoulders, lifting him to his feet and quickly moving toward the hut. Callum sagged toward the ground, hissing in pain again, his breaths growing heavier and less steady, and Dorian quickened their pace, pushing his door open.

“Hurts,” Callum murmured.

“I know it does. I’ll take care of it.”

“Dorian…”

The heavy tone of regret in Callum’s voice left Dorian wincing even as he shook his head and deposited Callum on his bed. The blood would ruin his covers but he could always buy more. He couldn’t just buy another Callum.

Seven months of waiting and this was how it would end? That didn’t seem fair.

“You’re hurt,” Callum said, raising a shaky hand to prod at Dorian’s side, eliciting a pained grunt from him.

“Don’t worry about me,” Dorian said, smacking Callum’s hand away, still eying the rogue’s wound. The wound losing blood at an alarming rate. “Can you breathe okay?”

“Sure,” Callum sighed.

“Your lung wasn’t hit?”

“No…”

_Well, that’s a relief, at least._

“I have some bandages,” he said, but Callum’s head had already bobbed downward toward his chest. He frowned and reached a hand toward the rogue’s head, letting his hand rest on a stubbled cheek, tilting his head upward and toward him. Callum’s eyes fluttered. “Stay with me. I’ll get the bandages, okay? I need you to stay awake.”

“Not gonna… work…”

“Stay awake,” he said firmly.

“ ‘kay…”

Dorian took in a breath and left the room, though it was surprisingly hard to do, leaving Callum there like that. He hurried toward the kitchen and dug around for the bandages he’d decided to have ready from the last time Callum was hurt.

“Come on, come on… where are they…”

Growling in frustration, he swiped everything off the kitchen table. The items landed on the floor with a thud. Then he turned toward his cabinets and began rooting through them.

Finally his searching fingers found what he was looking for and he pulled the bandaging free from behind the plates, quickly leaving the room.

Callum was on the back of the bed, leaning against the wall, head bowed and tilted to the side, eyes closed. It was quiet in the room which left Dorian quickly sitting on the bed, dropping the bandaging beside limp legs as he reached toward the pulse point on the rogue’s neck.

His pulse beat unsteadily against Dorian’s probing fingers, his breaths quiet and rushed, his skin clammy.

“Stay with me,” he murmured under his breath, lightly slapping Callum’s cheek. “Open your eyes. Callum!”

Callum woke with a groan, eyes fluttering open. It had been a long time since Dorian was so close to him, close enough to see the flecks in his eyes. His glazed, glossy eyes which were darkening in color.

Dorian quickly grabbed the bandages and began winding them around Callum’s torso, struggling to stop the bleeding, or at least slow it.

“D-orian…”

“Shh,” he said. “I won’t have you dying on my bed. It’s bad luck, you know.”

“S-Sorry.”

Dorian shook his head. “Don’t apologize – this isn’t your fault.”

“Mm…”

“What did I say about your eyes? Open them, now.”

Callum mumbled something under his breath, head bobbing again, eyes falling closed. Dorian muttered a quick spell to rouse him and make him more alert, though he knew it wouldn’t last forever. Callum’s eyes snapped open as adrenaline pumped through his veins, leaving him gasping at the sudden rush.

“Stay awake,” Dorian said firmly, holding Callum’s gaze. “We’re traveling to Redcliffe.”

“D-ori…”

“I know it’s a journey, but that’s where the healer is. She can help you.”

“Don’t… bother…” Callum said through clenched teeth.

Dorian narrowed his eyes. “We’re going to Redcliffe. If we hurry it’s only a few hours.”

“Tired… go yourself…”

Dorian shook his head and threw Callum’s arm around his shoulders again. “Come on, we’re wasting time.”

Callum attempted to pull away. “Stop.”

“None of that,” Dorian said. “We’re going.”

“Why… do you… care so much?”

“Why do I…? I just spent seven months waiting for you to show up; I’m not letting you die now.”

“Seven… months?” Callum’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“We’ll discuss it later,” Dorian promised, getting the rogue to his feet, checking the bandages. So far he hadn’t bled through them. He hoped it would help slow the bleeding if nothing else, and give them time to get to Redcliffe.

“Dorian…”

“Enough of your negativity, damn you,” Dorian said, scowling as he hauled Callum out of the house.

It would be a journey to Redcliffe and there was a chance his bandaging wouldn’t hold, and Callum would bleed out on the way there. But it was his only chance, and after seven months of waiting, he wouldn’t let him die like this if there was even a chance he could help him.

“F-ine,” Callum said tiredly, and Dorian glanced at him to find a weak smirk on his face. “You’re so… stubborn.”

“Yes, I am. I would have thought you knew that about me by now.”

With that, they began their journey to Redcliffe.

Traveling on foot would not only take a while, but would be dangerous with the rising tension everywhere. He didn’t want to think about how easy it would be for bandits, or anyone, to attack them like this.

_It’ll be okay. Just keep moving, Dorian._

He took in a breath and tightened his hold on Callum, the rogue leaning into him heavily.

“Stay with me,” Dorian said again.

“ ‘m here,” Callum replied with a sigh.

_Good. Keep it that way._


	17. Lie's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After having words with Dorian, Callum decides to end the lie. It's time for 'Callum' to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Callum decided to be a jerk on me, so... xD Thing escalated from there. 
> 
> Okay, so, I don't know what I'm going to do next, to be honest. I have a lot of conflicting ideas and right now I'm really tired so... yeah. Anyway, I might either end this story here and keep it as part 1 since the whole 'justice' thing had to do with getting revenge on the blood mage and that part is ended, or I might change the title and keep going, I haven't decided yet. Thoughts on this? Please let me know what you think! I would love your input! The pain problem is I don't really want to get into Inquisition - I hate doing game dialogue, it's so tedious and restrictive. So I'm just not sure at this point. Either way there will be more to this story, it just might be in a new story, part 2, or it might be here but with this story's title being changed. We'll see, please let me know! :D
> 
> Also - I was going through my favorites list of songs and thought this song fit Dorian and his life in Tevinter (relationship with parents) quite well for some reason. Song: "I Am Who I Am" by Ben's Brother. Check it out :D

Chapter Sixteen: Lie's End

 

“Callum, stay with me.”

Dorian’s voice faded in and out. By this point Callum’s body was numb – he couldn’t feel his legs moving but he must have been helping at least a little because Dorian wasn’t quite dragging him yet. It was getting harder to focus, though, and there was this empty chill seeping into his bones, slipping past the numbness. The pain of before had long since faded, replaced with this detached, empty feeling he couldn’t quite identify but knew nevertheless.

He’d been close to death a few times. By this point the dance was familiar, and death was an estranged friend. He was too tired to care about their reunion now, though. Too tired and cold and he could barely hear Dorian. He had long since stopped feeling his body.

“I swear, Callum, if you don’t stay awake-”

His voice faded out again.

_So tired…_

“Open your eyes.”

Opening his eyes didn’t matter – he couldn’t see anymore. Everything was too blurry, too disjointed. Why bother opening his eyes when it took too much effort and he couldn’t even see anyway?

So he kept them closed and drifted.

Drifted into darkness, to a place where there was no icy chill crawling through him, where there were no dreams.

He wasn’t sure how long he lingered there, but sudden adrenaline coursing through him left his eyes snapping open, the fuzzy images momentarily clearing. He found himself on his back on the ground with Dorian hovering over him, slapping his cheek. If he could feel much of anything it would sting, he was sure, but as it was he felt nothing.

“Stay awake,” Dorian snapped. He sounded angry. He didn’t like angry Dorian. He had a tendency to slap him for no reason. “You stay with me or I swear I will never forgive you!”

_Why do you care so much?_

His mind was too hazy to think right now, though. He was too tired even with the adrenaline rushing through him due to whatever Dorian did. He ever got to have a clear head again he’d have to ask him about that. As it was, though, he was too tired to care.

“ _Kaffas_ , what did I say?” Another slap to the cheek left him blinking hazily at what he assumed to be Dorian’s scowling face. No one else had that mustache.

He smirked, unable to stop himself at the thought of that mustache. Somehow it fit Dorian’s face but imaging it on someone else – Maker, on _Emry_ – left him wanting to laugh. If he wasn’t so tired and out of breath he would.

“What are you so smiley about? This is serious,” Dorian said, obvious scowl in his voice. “Come on, Redcliffe isn’t far.”

His arm was wrapped around Dorian’s shoulders again, lifting him to his feet.

“Why…” He struggled to find his voice. “Why… do you… care so much…?”

“ _Festis bei umo caravarum,_ ” Dorian hissed, quickening their pace. Or at least Callum though he did, but he couldn’t feel his legs so he wasn’t sure. Everything felt all numb and fuzzy and he was growing increasingly light headed.

“Still… d-on’t know… what that means…”

“ _Vishante kaffas_ ,” Dorian muttered. “Be silent and stay awake.”

“ ‘m tired.”

“Yes, we’re all tired, now be silent. Keep moving. We’re almost there.”

xXx

Redcliffe was beautiful this time of year, near the water with green life blooming everywhere. People were leaving their homes probably for the first time in months, to travel the dirt roads of the small town since the snow was melted. Dorian watched them as he paced outside the healer’s hut on a hill in Redcliffe. They all moved about with their lives without a care in the world, as secluded as this small town seemed. The war must have seemed like some distant thing, heard about but not really seen unless one traveled outside of the town and through the Hinterlands.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been here, pacing back and forth waiting on word from the healer, but he’d been kicked out of the hut when he kept ‘hovering’. Dorian Pavus did not hover. He wasn’t some worried mother hen. He was merely… concerned. He _did_ take Callum all the way here with him bleeding out and attempting to sleep on him. The least Callum could do was survive.

He was protecting his investment, as Callum once said. He spent all his time waiting for the rogue to reappear and then he traveled to Recliffe in search of the elusive healer since he didn’t know where Anders was, and doubted he was close enough to help.

He dragged a hand across his face, exhaustion flooding through him. After hours of waiting to hear something, anything from the healer, he was tired, the adrenaline from before slipping away as time passed. Yet he knew even if he lay down and attempted to sleep, he wouldn’t be able to do so as he was also too jittery at the moment, waiting on news.

Waiting. Always waiting, first for the rogue to show back up and now for news on whether or not he still lived. For all he knew Callum was dead and the healer was just wasting time. Leaving Dorian waiting.

_He’s dead and she’s just dragging her heels._

Except that didn’t seem right – she was a healer, she had to deal with death before. She wouldn’t just waste time in there hesitating to tell Dorian. He tried not to think about why she might be hesitating, if she was. It wasn’t like he and Callum were involved. He tried to think of what he would do if Callum was dead, or would die and there was nothing the healer could do. Even after hours of waiting, and contemplating this, he still didn’t have an answer.

He released a slow breath.

_Alright, Dorian. Control yourself. You won’t know anything until the healer unlocks the door._

After he kept pacing and ‘hovering’ inside she kicked him out so she could work uninterrupted. After staying outside for a bit he returned inside the hut to check on progress. Finally she locked the door, keeping him outside, stating she would let him in once she was finished – either with Callum dead or alive and resting.

_What will I tell Emry if he dies?_

It was something he tried not to think about, but the thought kept resurfacing. For all his problems with Emry and Emry’s problems with him, he was a loyal friend to Callum, keeping to Dorian’s side because that was Callum demanded of him before he disappeared through the portal. Emry didn’t even know Callum had shown back up yet. What would he do when he learned Callum showed up, and if then Dorian had to tell him the rogue died anyway because he had no help? At least, no help in time. Hobbling to Redcliffe took a while. By the end of the trip Callum was unconscious and no matter what Dorian did, he couldn’t rouse him again.

By the time they got to the healer, the rogue was barely breathing, his skin cold and clammy.

He sighed again, heavier this time. A passerby gave him an odd look and kept walking. They didn’t care what was happening in the healer’s hut. They didn’t know Callum, nor did they care whether he lived or died. Somehow, that seemed wrong. Tragic.

The world kept moving and people kept living while Dorian kept waiting.

xXx

Consciousness returned with a vengeance. It didn’t come on gradually but suddenly. One second he was unconscious, floating in a blissful abyss, and the next he was flung into awareness, immediately attempting to sit up as his eyes snapped open. Instantly there was a hand on his chest pushing him back down, a voice calling out to him through the fog in his mind.

“Take it easy,” the smooth voice was saying.

After blinking several times the fuzzy blob hovering above him morphed into Dorian’s worried, pinched face.

“Are you with me? Callum?”

“Mm,” he said, nodding slowly. “What happened?”

Dorian’s smile wasn’t… usual. It was something else, some foreign _thing_ Callum wasn’t certain how to identify. But it was a smile. “You lived, that’s what happened.”

“That was in question?”

“Do you remember what happened? The blood mage?”

And it all came crashing back to him. The blood mage, Dorian hurt on the ground, walking through some kind of portal to find Dorian okay… then pain, and everything got hazy. He looked around with a frown, realizing they weren’t in Dorian’s hut.

“Where are we?”

“Redcliffe,” Dorian replied. “Remember? To see the healer?”

“Oh. Right.”

“Try not to get yourself hurt again. You’re ruining a lot of floors.”

Callum couldn’t help but chuckle and roll his eyes. “Of course, not the precious floors. Do you forgive me?”

Dorian’s smile thinned. “How do you feel?”

_Well. Pissed at me, then?_

“I’m fine. What about you? I remember you lying flat on the ground, and then you were suddenly better. What happened there?”

“When you went through the portal you traveled into the future. Seven months into the future, to be exact.”

_Seven months._

He missed seven months of life. Who knew what he had missed?

He couldn’t believe he was accepting this so freely and easily but to be honest, after learning about time travel with his short conversation with the blood mage, he knew it was possible and Dorian went from dying to be perfectly fine. There was only one explanation for that, and that was time travel.

Seven months, though.

Seven long months.

“Where’s Emry?” he asked, realizing he hadn’t seen the elf since he walked through the portal with the mage.

Dorian visibly hesitated, looking away as silence filled the air.

Alarmed, Callum struggled to sit up but was again pushed back down. Immediately Dorian’s hesitation was gone and he was glaring at him once more.

“ _Do not move_ ,” the mage said firmly, eyes narrowed. “Do you hear me? You’re barely patched up. If you fall apart again, that might be it.”

Callum took in a slow breath, eying Dorian’s expression. Everything was still a little fuzzy but he still could make out the frown and the pinched look he wore. “Where’s Emry, Dorian?”

“I don’t know.”

He tried to sit up again and this time when Dorian pushed him down he cursed in Tevene. Or at least it sounded like he was cursing, but Callum couldn’t understand what he was saying. The look in his narrowed eyes said it all, though.

“Where is he, Dorian?”

“He went back to work a while ago,” Dorian said quietly. “We searched for you, and waited, for months. He eventually…”

“Moved on,” Callum said, and hated that his voice sounded so flat even to his own ears.

A part of him felt offended – Emry was his best friend, how could he just give up on Callum like that? And another part of him whispered that Emry had the right idea. Seven months had passed, after all, and he had no way to know what happened to Callum or if he was even still alive, or if he would show up at all.

Despite the sudden hurt he felt, he couldn’t blame him. Emry didn’t handle loss or guilt well.

“He’ll be thrilled to learn you’re alive,” Dorian told him.

Callum shrugged and shook his head, which was awkward lying down as he was. “Maybe it’s best he doesn’t know.”

Dorian’s brows furrowed further. “Why would you say that? He’s your friend, he’ll want to know you’re alive as soon as possible.”

“If he’s moved on, leave him be.”

“Are you angry with him? Is that it?”

“No. I’m not mad at him. I just… know that couldn’t have been easy for him. Leave him be, don’t disturb him further.”

He looked up at the ceiling instead of Dorian. It seemed easier that way.

“I’m tired. Can we talk later?”

Dorian hesitated – it was clear from the silence. Finally he sighed. “Very well. You need your rest. I’ll be here if you need me.”

That made him smile, if ever so slightly. “Thanks, Dorian.”

“Sleep, Callum.”

xXx

Days passed slowly. Callum was on the road to recovery but wasn’t ready for the journey back to Dorian’s hut, no matter what he claimed. He was healing quite nicely and the healer was happy to note there was no sign of infection, which meant Callum was free to go, but not able to travel across the Hinterlands just yet. It was another waiting game but by this point, Dorian was an expert.

Emry was a touchy subject, it seemed. Every time the topic turned to him, and telling him Callum was alive, was broached Callum would go silent or change the subject. He didn’t wish to discuss it and Dorian knew he was hurt by Emry’s acceptance of his disappearance. After all, in his mind mere seconds had passed, not seven months of constantly getting his hopes crushed like it was for Dorian and Emry.

Dorian had no way to reach Emry, anyway. Or Hawke, for that matter. He had no way to call off the search as Callum was hale and whole right in front of him. Instead he would have to wait until he next saw them, or attempt to send word to Hawke, but as he, Fenris, and Anders were still away from their cabin, he knew not where to find them.

The same went for Emry. He could be anywhere, on a job or just sulking somewhere.

And Callum was hurt that his best friend simply gave up on him. Dorian could understand that – he would feel at least a little offended himself if his best friend gave up and moved on. But from Emry’s perspective, he didn’t know what happened to Callum and had no way of knowing for sure. Constantly waiting was no life to live, and while Dorian suffered through it Emry attempted to move on. Whether or not he succeeded was another matter entirely.

Currently they were staying in and inn. The room was small, as was the way with small towns, it seemed, and they had to share a bed. Thus far that had not been a problem, as Dorian gave Callum the bed – he was injured, after all; he needed it more – and slept on the floor. Eventually Callum grew tired of this.

“You’re sleeping in the bed tonight,” Callum declared after they finished their evening meal, copper-green eyes filled with steely determination.

Dorian quirked a brow. “Oh, really?”

“Yes. Even if I have to knock you and place you in it myself.”

“As you are injured, I wouldn’t advise such nonsense.”

Callum rolled his eyes.

It should have disturbed Dorian how easily he slipped back into routine, easily joking with Callum was though nothing had transpired in the past seven months, when in fact everything had changed. Those long months changed him in ways he was only just beginning to realize. Sharing a bed was not a good idea, nor was making Callum sleep on the floor. Therefore, the floor was Dorian’s, the bed Callum’s.

“We can share,” Callum said. “If you don’t want me sleeping on the floor. You were hurt too, you know.”

Dorian scowled at the mention of his minor side wound. “I am fine, and you know it. You, on the other hand, nearly bled out on me yet again. One could start to get the wrong impression.”

“What, that I like almost dying on you?”

“Please do not try to make a habit of it.”

“Of course. The floors of Thedas wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

Dorian smirked despite himself.

Callum patted the spot next to him on the bed. “We can share the bed, Dorian. I promise I won’t kick you out of bed in the middle of the night.”

Dorian shook his head from where he sat across the room in a small wooden chair. It was uncomfortable but preferable to sitting on the bed, he found. The dreams told him that much. Since Callum’s return the dreams had tapered off, but he still remembered them clearly. Getting closer to Callum was not the best idea. What would he do if they _did_ get involved, only to have something befall the rogue again and leave him dead? Judging by how Dorian reacted when he was merely _missing_ for seven months, he didn’t want to find out how he would react if he died after they grew closer.

A part of him whispered that he should pull away, end things now. He knew Callum was safe for now, and so he could finally let go of his guilt over what happened. Yes it was his fault Callum surrendered so easily, but he’d also made up for it by getting Callum to a healer in return. His debt was paid.

Walking away now would be preferable to later.

Yet getting up and trekking back to his hut, alone, would take too much energy.

“Dorian.”

“I do not think that is wise.”

Callum huffed. “Why not? We shared a bed before.”

“Yes, we did.”

“So? Why is now different?”

Dorian merely shook his head again. He didn’t know what to say to Callum, or how to explain it. In the end he kept his mouth shut.

The silence stretched around them, a thin band stretching as far as it could until it snapped.

Callum’s eyes narrowed into a glare. “What’s changed between us, Dorian?”

Dorian blinked at him, frowning. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You _know_ what I mean. First you’re all worried about me, now it’s like you can’t stand the sight of me. Did I do something wrong?”

Hearing the confusion in Callum’s voice left him sighing. Of course Callum would be confused – again, only scant seconds passed for him, while seven months did for Dorian and the rest of the world. He couldn’t possibly understand what that did to Dorian. To Emry.

“No,” he said quietly, looking away from Callum’s prying eyes. “You did nothing wrong.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything is fine.”

“You’re lying to me. Why?”

Dorian remained silent.

Callum sighed heavily and stood from the bed. The bed creaked in response and Dorian’s gaze snapped back toward the rogue to see him heading for the door, his boots thudding against the ground as he did so, causing floorboards to creak.

“Where are you going?” Dorian asked, puzzled.

“You don’t want me here. I’m leaving.”

“What? I never said that,” Dorian said, quickly getting to his feet.

For some reason the thought of Callum just walking away now, after everything, seemed so incredibly wrong and he couldn’t let it happen. Despite his thoughts, and how he felt he _should_ distance himself because it would be better in the long run, he couldn’t bring himself to do so. And that was why this was so difficult, and Callum certainly wasn’t making it any easier.

Callum shrugged and kept moving toward the door, his hand twisting around the knob.

Dorian didn’t know he was moving until he stood directly behind the rogue, hand reaching out to snatch his shoulder and spin him around. The sudden movement nearly left the smaller frame staggering but Callum quickly caught himself and raised his gaze to glare at Dorian.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re not leaving.”

“I think I am.”

“No. I won’t allow it.”

“You’re not the boss of me, Dorian. You don’t want me here.”

“I never said that,” Dorian said, scowling at the rogue. “Stop putting words in my mouth.”

Callum sighed, shoulders slumping somewhat. “Then what’s wrong, Dorian? Are you mad at me?”

“Yes.”

He answered so quickly it startled not only Callum, but himself.

He hadn’t been aware the anger was there until the answer left his lips.

Callum’s eyes widened marginally. “What did I do?”

Dorian hesitated, struggling to think of _why_ he was mad. Why was he angry with Callum? It wasn’t Callum’s fault, what happened. Except one part of it was.

“You simply gave up,” Dorian said, shrugging, releasing Callum’s shoulder.

“What?”

“When I was hurt,” Dorian continued quietly. “You simply surrendered and gave up. Walked away with the mage.”

“You were hurt,” Callum said softly. “He already hurt you and tried to attack all three of you at once – I couldn’t let him try again.”

“So you surrendered.”

“Yes.”

“You willingly walked through that portal with him.”

Callum’s lips pursed. “Yes.”

“ _That_ is why I’m angry.”

“But… why? It was my choice.”

“Exactly. You _chose_ to go through the portal. You _chose_ to surrender.” His own shoulders slumped as the realization slammed into him, leaving him momentarily breathless as he stared at the rogue.

“Dorian…”

“You chose death.”

“I didn’t.”

Dorian shook his head and turned away from Callum. “I can’t forgive you for that.”

“For…?”

“For the last seven months. For choosing to go with him. For choosing death.”

“Dorian…” Regret in his tone.

Dorian didn’t want to hear it, because in truth Callum’s actions were selfless. He chose Dorian’s safety, and the others’ safety, over his own and so Dorian couldn’t fault him for it, but in the end it would be so much easier if…

“Sometimes I think it would be easier if I didn’t care.”

“Didn’t care? About what?” The confusion was back in his voice.

Dorian took in a deep breath and turned to face Callum again, holding his gaze. “You.”

“You…? You care about me?” Callum asked, and he still sounded so confused, and that was what Dorian both liked and loathed about him.

He couldn’t seem to accept that others might possibly be upset if he went missing. He didn’t think it would matter if he chose death. He didn’t think it would matter if he just disappeared. But for seven long months Dorian waited, because he did care. It did matter.

“Yes,” he said quietly, averting his gaze. This was the most open he’d ever been with anyone, even with his quick sexual encounters in Tevinter. “Despite what’s best for me, yes.”

“Despite what…? You don’t want to care about me,” Callum said slowly, frowning.

“You misunderstand,” Dorian said, shaking his head, but in truth he didn’t know how to explain it, couldn’t find the words.

“Then explain it to me.”

“I… can’t.”

Callum’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

“I… don’t know how to explain it.”

“Try.”

Dorian shook his head, struggling to find the words but they would not come to him. Callum’s shoulders slumped again and his gaze averted toward the ground, suddenly finding it quite interesting.

“I... I think I understand.”

Dorian’s eyes widened. “You… You do?”

Surprising, considering Dorian didn’t quite understand it himself.

“I’ll go.”

Dorian frowned. “What?”

“You don’t like to care.”

_Yes, that… seems quite apt._

“And you care about me, despite your better judgment,” Callum continued quietly, before turning away from Dorian, facing the door once more. Staring at him from behind, he looked – _lost_.

_Perhaps he is. Where will he go if he leaves?_

Did Callum even have a home? Or did he just travel all the time, doing jobs?

He probably stuck with Emry, Dorian noted. And yet Emry was nowhere to be seen, having given up on Callum, his best friend. To Callum that had to feel like betrayal in its worst form – leaving him feeling forgotten. If their roles were switched, Dorian would probably feel the same. And now Callum had Dorian telling him he did not want to care about him.

_But I do care._

Despite his best efforts, his struggle to distance himself, he found he could not do so, no matter how hard he tried.

Callum slipped under his skin and there was no digging him out now.

The sooner he accepted that, the easier things would be.

“Don’t leave,” he found himself whispering.

Whispers were always the loudest, it seemed, for Callum stopped in his tracks, hand hovering over the knob of the door, as though Dorian had cast an ice spell upon him.

“I think it’s best if I leave.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I don’t think I am.”

His hand closed over the knob.

Dorian swallowed thickly, struggling once again to find the words. The magic words which would keep Callum here. If this was how it ended – their friendship, or whatever they had – he would never forgive himself. After waiting months, he couldn’t chase him off now.

“Callum, look at me.”

“I don’t think that’s wise.”

“Then stop thinking, and just do it.”

Callum hesitated. For a moment everything was silent and still around them, as if only they existed. And then the rogue’s fingers twisted the knob, and the door was pulled open. Callum stepped through the doorway but stopped just outside the door, back to Dorian, posture stiff.

“For what it’s worth, you were a great friend.”

“Callum, don’t-”

“Stop.”

Dorian stopped his movements and snapped his mouth shut. He had been moving toward Callum, to stop him physically if he wouldn’t stop on his own, but now stood as though frozen.

Callum sighed slowly, heavily. Weighing his options.

_Stay. Stay here._

But he couldn’t make Callum stay if he didn’t want to do so. And yet Callum was only contemplating leaving because of what Dorian said, and how he was behaving. This all had to be a shock to Callum, arriving seven months in the future. It would take a toll on anyone. And Dorian had only added to that weight due to his own worries.

Finally Callum’s spine straightened, no longer slouching.

“Goodbye, Dorian.”

Then the door closed behind him with a soft thud, and Dorian was left with the echo of his words darting through his head as he stared at the door where once his friend stood. Hearing the finality in his voice.

Seven months.

Seven months of waiting.

Seven months of waiting only to have him almost die.

Seven months of waiting only to have him almost die, and now this.

Seven months and in the end Dorian chased him away due to a slip of the tongue.

_Why did I say I was angry with him… I’m not._

He wasn’t angry, he realized.

He was…

His eyes narrowed.

_No. Not like this._

He threw the door open and stepped out of the room, quickly rushing down the stairs toward the main area of the inn where Callum was nowhere to be seen. Callum was a rogue, able to disappear if he wanted. If he didn’t want to be found, Dorian had no doubt that he wouldn’t be.

“Callum!” he called as he rushed out of the inn, searching the streets of Redcliffe.

Passersby shot him strange looks, clearly surprised by his outburst, but he didn’t care about them right now. All he knew was he had this strange, twisting feeling in his gut and he knew it would only worsen if he let things end like this. If he let Callum walk away.

It would be so much easier if he just cut his losses now and let the rogue leave. In the long run, it would be easier.

In the long run, people like Callum burned bright but died fast.

_The good ones die young._

_The evil live forever._

And so he should let him leave. He’d already allowed the rogue under his skin. Stopping things now was for the best.

_But then why does this feel wrong?_

He couldn’t explain the attachment he felt. It was this raw, primal feeling which coursed through him and the only way to salvage any of this was to find Callum and fix things.

_I’ll share the bloody bed. Where are you?_

“Callum, you come out right now! _Kaffas_! Callum!”

More onlookers eyed him. A mother hurried her child away from his wandering gaze. He didn’t care.

“I’ll share the bloody bed,” he muttered under his breath. “Where are you?”

There was no sign of the rogue anywhere.

It was like he was never there.

 _It’s better this way,_ his mind whispered.

_The good die young._

_The evil live forever._

_“Festis bei umo canavarum,_ ” he said through gritted teeth. “Callum!”

xXx

Callum hated the rainy season. Spring always brought the rain. Truth be told it was Callum’s least favorite time of year, despite the new life everywhere, both green and otherwise. Spring was supposed to be about new beginnings, for everything and everyone, and yet he felt like he’d gone back a few steps.

He stood in the rain with his head tilted upward, staring up at the dark storm clouds darkening the sky. The water felt cold against his skin due to the chill still in the air, but once he traveled further north, it wouldn’t be as cold. He wasn’t sure where he would go – anywhere was fine, as long as it was away.

Away from the Hinterlands. Away from Fereldan. Away from Dorian, and Emry.

Away from this life.

Away from _Callum_.

He liked Callum. It had been a part of him for so long – that name and everything it brought with it. The life of a rogue assassin, his friendship with Emry, and Dorian…

_Doesn’t matter anymore._

It wasn’t the first time he’d sought a fresh start, and somehow he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. The blood mage who killed his family was dead and yet the satisfaction he thought he’d feel upon the mage’s death never occurred. Instead he felt more off-balance with each day that passed.

It felt like just yesterday that he had a life, despite the fact it was all a lie. Just yesterday he had Emry and Dorian with him, traveling across Thedas first in search of Hawke, then he and Dorian heading to Ostwick…

That was almost a year ago now.

It was so hard to believe when it felt like scant weeks ago.

_Time travel is the worst._

He lost seven months of his life and he had no way of getting it back. Seven months was a long time. One’s life could change in a single night, let alone seven months. It left him spiraling.

He had friends. He had a life. He _liked_ that life, feeling comfortable for the first time in so long… comfortable with Emry and Dorian…

And now it was gone.

Emry gave up on him. Returning to the elf would only stir up memories and leave Emry feeling guilty, and he didn’t wear guilt well. It was best to stay away from him and let him think Callum died. It would let him move on like he intended. Reappearing would benefit no one.

It certainly didn’t benefit Dorian.

Dorian was so disturbed by his presence he wouldn’t even share a bed with him. He felt like he couldn’t wait to get away from Callum whenever they were in a room together, always jittery with a knee bouncing whenever he sat. He didn’t want to care about Callum – he didn’t want Callum near him.

Callum’s presence was unwanted and unneeded by everyone.

_It’s not the first time I’ve disappeared. It’s not the first time people thought I died._

He thought he was finally done running. Even when he was injured he had the relief that the blood mage was dead. He would have been fine dying then, knowing he avenged his family. Dorian did most of the damage to the mage, but Callum delivered the final blow with his dagger to the mage’s neck. Possibilities opened up to him after waking – a life where he didn’t have to hide. He could become Schuyler Trevelyan again if he wanted to, but that life died a long time ago. It was better Schuyler stayed dead.

But Callum had freedom. The possibilities were endless as he wouldn’t have to hide anymore, nor would he have to worry about the blood mage. For the first time in his life he was free, except this wasn’t what he expected, nor what he wanted.

Freedom wasn’t supposed to feel so empty.

He closed his eyes, the rain still pelting his face. His skin was numb by this point so it didn’t matter. Dorian would scold him if he knew he was doing this, Callum was certain. For a brief moment he allowed himself a smile.

It dispersed with the knowledge Dorian wanted him gone. It was easier for Dorian that way. All Callum was at this point was a disruption in everyone’s life.

But that was okay. He could disappear again.

Callum, for all intents and purposes, died eight months ago.

The only one who would know otherwise was Dorian.

No one would believe Dorian should he attempt to tell them the truth. Not that Callum thought Dorian would tell anyone – he didn’t want to care, after all.

That meant he _did_ care.

That was… nice.

Dorian was the only one who didn’t give up on him when he was gone for seven months.

That had to mean something.

_It’s better this way. Dwelling on it won’t help._

Dwelling on it would only mean mourning the lie that was himself.

Callum didn’t exist anymore. Perhaps he never existed. A lie which fooled even himself.

_I’ll go north. No one knows me there. Change my name again and no one will know the difference._

_But I like Callum…_

He’d had the name for his teenage years and his adult life so far. It was a massive part of him, despite the fact none of it was real. Callum didn’t exist, never existed, and he needed to get over it.

Moving on was never easy but Emry certainly did it easily enough.

Dorian would, too.

Now it was time for Callum to do the same.

The first step was letting Callum die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again - this story is NOT finished, I do have more planned, it's just figuring out how to go about it that's the problem. I'm really bad at procrastination. Comments do motivate me though :D Then I feel compelled to give you more :3 But anyway, please think about what I said and let me know what you think I should do! Thank you all so much!


	18. Unicorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's trouble at the Conclave. Dorian contemplates being a unicorn.
> 
> (PS This begins PART 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This begins PART 2. Okay I took some liberties with this chapter. I don't know if Cullen would be near the Conclave at the time of the explosion, but oh well. Also, I don't know when Dorian would have arrived at Redcliffe to begin meeting with Felix. I don't want to be exact on anything so I'm going by ear and what I remember of the game. I'll get into detail later. For now, I hope it sounds okay. I will try to have an update soon, but no promises. Thoughts?

\--PART TWO--

 

Chapter Seventeen: Unicorn

 

_What am I doing here…_

In truth he had no idea. There was no real reason to be here. Perhaps a year ago he would have been assigned this job, of spying on the Conclave meeting as demanded by the Divine, but since that was a life he wished not to think about, he truly had no reason to be here other than mere curiosity. He saw Kirkwall after the uprising; he had to know if it would end here, near Haven.

He had mixed feelings about Haven. It was where he first learned of the Conclave, really, and learned that Cassandra, a Seeker, wanted Hawke to lead her budding Inquisition. Nothing could be determined until the Conclave, of course. When both sides would meet to discuss a compromise of sorts. It was history in the making.

“Who are you?”

He blinked at the questioning figure who squinted at him. “Hmm?”

“You look familiar.”

He remembered this man. Cullen something. From Haven, when he spoke with Cassandra. He only met him once. He barely remembered him and he was good with faces; it made sense that Cullen didn’t remember him. Perhaps that was for the best.

“Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met,” he said, shrugging and offering a smile.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sorry.”

“Apologies. You just have one of those faces, I guess.”

“I guess so.”

Cullen sighed, running a hand through his short dark blonde hair. “Well, I suppose you should get inside. It’s almost time for the meeting to begin. You are here for that, yes?”

He nodded. “Yes, that’s why I’m here.”

“Your name?”

Cullen was just doing his duty, checking with everyone who came in, keeping an eye on everything. It was understandable, as tensions were high.

“Warren,” he said.

“Warren?”

“Warren Campbell.”

“I see. What is your reason for being here? You don’t look like a Templar or a mage, no offense.”

“I’m neither, but I’m curious to see what happens. I was hired as security. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of me.”

Cullen eyed him for a moment before he nodded, sighing heavily. He looked exhausted with dark rings around his eyes. It must have been hard to plan all of this and keep an eye on everyone. He didn’t envy Cullen. “Yes, that seems… apt. I have been quite busy. Continue, then.”

He stepped aside and allowed him entrance into the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

_Warren Campbell. Have to remember that name._

He didn’t have a name anymore. It was whatever he decided, or needed for that day, or week. He never stayed in one place very long. Not because he was in danger these days, with the blood mage dead, but because he had no real reason to stay in one place. Personal preference left him continuously on the road.

More than once he contemplated giving this up and returning to Dorian’s hut. He even tried, once, only to find the mage had moved and no longer lived in the Hinterlands. He could probably find Dorian if he truly wished to do so, as he was good at tracking people down, but he never tried. Dorian was gone and that was that. He didn’t search for him for the same reason he didn’t look for Emry even though he knew where to go to find the elf. Emry was predictable in that he had to check in with Caine every so often. If he truly wished to find his old friends, he could, but he thought staying away was better for everyone. Emry moved on a long time ago; Dorian moved away. Neither needed him anymore, or wanted him around.

_It’s better this way._

Even though he kept moving around, he had no real name these days. He still considered himself ‘Callum’ even though that person died a long time ago. Over a year ago, to be exact. A whole year. One would think he would have a new identity by now, but nothing stuck. He wasn’t looking for a new life so much as drifting. He didn’t belong anywhere, not as Schuyler, and not as Callum. He was nobody.

Inside the temple it was chaos. There were brief arguments breaking out everywhere. Cullen’s men stepped in to keep the peace but it was a struggle, he could see. If things didn’t end soon the war would only worsen and consume Thedas. Not even the north would be safe then. He hoped the Divine knew what she was doing, gathering them all in one place, the leaders of both sides. This had been a long time coming and he hoped it worked out.

“Callum?”

It had been a long time since anyone called him that. For a moment he thought about not turning around – the person couldn’t mean him, after all, as he’d given no one here his name except Cullen, and even that was a one-time name – but the voice was familiar.

So he turned and found himself staring at a familiar face.

“Hawke,” he said with a weak smile he hoped looked more real than it felt.

Hawke had a beard now, though it wasn’t too long. His stubble had thickened and grown out. His eyes were as blue as ever, hiding behind a thin veil of dark hair. “It _is_ you. Dorian said you were alive but I didn’t believe…”

Callum – for he couldn’t consider himself someone else after spending so long as Callum – shrugged slowly, shaking his head and offering an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I just… I thought it’d be easier if… Well. Here we are.”

Hawke nodded. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yes, well… it’s good to see you, too.”

And truly, it was. Hawke was a friend, at one point in time. After so long of wandering aimlessly it was good to see a familiar face, and be called by a name he thought died long ago. It brought with it memories he tried to keep buried, but now they rushed to the surface.

Memories of traveling with Hawke, Fenris, Anders, Dorian and Emry.

“How is Fenris?” he asked. “Anders?”

“They’re fine,” Hawke said, but it was too quickly. It had always been part of his job to notice the small details.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Are they here with you?”

“No, they’re not.”

“That’s… surprising. I thought Fenris wouldn’t let you out of his sight.”

A small smile graced Hawke’s face. “Yeah. He’s a little… protective. But no, they’re not here.”

“You didn’t leave them alone together, right?”

Hawke chuckled slightly, shaking his head. “Of course not – they’d kill each other. Anders is doing what he can in the Hinterlands. Things have gotten bad there, with… the war and everything. And Fenris…”

“What about him? Is he okay?”

“Yes, he’s fine. Or he was last I saw him.”

Callum frowned. “You broke up?”

“No. I don’t know. I… I agreed to be Inquisitor. He… wasn’t fond of my choice.”

Callum could understand why Fenris would be upset. It wasn’t Hawke’s place to be in charge simply because he was in Kirkwall when everything started. Hawke himself was a mage and could be targeted, especially if he paraded around in charge of the Inquisition. He could see why Fenris wouldn’t agree with this, but for him to just abandon Hawke… that didn’t seem right.

“So he left you?” he asked, confused.

“No. I don’t know. He said… he was angry. I came alone.”

“Oh. I see.”

Things were complicated between them, but Callum was certain things would work out. Fenris would turn up sooner or later. He could be angry all he wanted but he was still with Hawke no matter how much he might want to fight it. He cared about Hawke. Callum wondered if anyone would ever care for him that much, to be loyal no matter what. Somehow, he doubted it.

One had to have a definite identity for someone to care about them. Callum… was nobody.

_Invisible, that’s me. Neither here nor there._

Time travel could do that, though, he supposed.

He hated time travel. He was much happier when he didn’t think that existed. Now he had all these little doubts. That blood mage came back in time and got stuck here, but was willing to risk that, because he wanted to kill Callum specifically. He didn’t care about Callum’s family, only Callum himself. Schuyler Trevelyan.

According to the blood mage, Callum was a tyrant, a murderer. Could he really do that, though? Could he kill someone who didn’t deserve it? He was an assassin, but he wasn’t a killer. At least, he didn’t think so.

_I’m not the bad guy. I’m not._

But what if in another life, he was exactly that? What if he was a tyrant, someone parents warned their kids about? What if he was a terrible person? He had to do something awful to leave that mage traveling back in time to stop him. What if he was a killer at heart?

_It would explain my life as an assassin. It’s in my DNA, apparently._

If so then he was still that horrible person – he just hadn’t realized it yet.

Maybe that was why everyone gave up on him. Why no one cared. Why no one _wanted_ to care.

“Callum?”

He blinked, unaware he’d gotten so lost in thought until he refocused on Hawke’s gaze. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“I was asking how you were,” Hawke said uncertainly. “You disappeared. We thought you were dead. We thought Dorian was wrong.”

“Yes, well… I’ve been fine, I guess. Traveling.”

Hawke watched him for a moment, before nodding. “I hope you found what you were looking for.”

“I wasn’t searching for anything.”

“In that case, why travel?”

“I like to see the world,” Callum said with a shrug. “Anyway – it should be starting soon, right?”

“It was delayed,” Hawke said.

“Delayed? Why?”

“I don’t know. The Divine is in a meeting in another room,” he said with a shrug. “It’s postponed at least a few hours.”

“Oh. What are you going to do in the meantime?”

“Probably going to get something to eat. Haven’s not far.”

This was technically a part of Haven, even though it was a bit of a ways away from the tiny village. It would take less than an hour to travel to Haven, and that was where most of the people were waiting, those who weren’t invited to the Conclave. Not that Callum was invited, but still.

“You in?” Hawke asked. “We’ll be back before it starts.”

Callum hesitated. If it was postponed there was no harm in leaving for a bit, and he was hungry, but somehow he thought spending time with Hawke would just lead to more memories of his old life. A life he hadn’t realized he’d liked so much. Callum had been born out of necessity – a need to hide his identity. But it became a life all its own.

And he missed it.

Going to Haven with Hawke would only leave him aching for that life back more than he had in a year.

“No thanks,” he said, shaking his head. “Thanks for the offer, but right now I just… I’m going to look around and get ready. Thanks anyway.”

“I understand,” Hawke said. “I’ll be in Haven if you change your mind.”

He smiled and nodded, waving Hawke goodbye as the mage turned to leave.

It would be a few hours before the meeting would begin. Everyone was just waiting around right now.

He had a few hours to forget everything Hawke reminded him of.

xXx

Redcliffe. It was beautiful, once. Now it was crowded with people struggling to escape the war between mages and Templars. Everyone was caught in the middle. To make matters worse, there was a cult forming called the Venatori. Dorian learned about it from Felix Alexius, son of Gereon Alexius, his old mentor.

Ever since the time travel fiasco from nearly two years ago, he had been trying to avoid Alexius. Felix he was okay with, but Alexius… he had something to do with the blood mage who had ruined everything, and that was all he could think about now when he thought about him. And now to learn he was tied to the Venatori…

He once idolized Gereon Alexius.

Now he wanted nothing to do with him, but he couldn’t ignore Felix’s call for help. According to Felix, it had something to do with the time amulet he and Alexius had once theorized about. At the mere mention of the amulet Dorian knew he had to come. He had to at least see Felix and hear his story.

He felt obligated to do that much, since it was his amulet – well, his and Alexius’ – which had inevitably led to Callum’s family’s murder.

A frown worked its way onto his face at the thought of his old friend. He tried not to think about Callum. Ever since the rogue walked out on him over a year ago, in this very town, he hadn’t seen or heard from him. He’d tried locating him but he wasn’t as good at tracking people down as Callum and Emry, and Emry wouldn’t help him. Even getting Emry to visit him was difficult. Ever since Dorian tried to tell the elf Callum was alive and that he disappeared again, Emry had stopped visiting him. He thought Dorian was lying, bringing things back up to hurt him, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

He took in a slow breath. He spent all this time attempting to forget Callum, since he couldn’t find him anywhere and he had no way of knowing if he was even still alive, but he found that rather difficult to do. Just when he thought he was over everything, when he finally moved on just as everyone else had, a dream would pop up, or a memory. The most usual memory was of that last day together, the little argument which had escalated in that inn.

He should have just agreed to share the bed.

If he could go back, he would agree. Then Callum wouldn’t have left and all his time spent waiting wouldn’t have been for nothing. He should have told the rogue of the dreams, of his attraction, his attachment, even though at the time he hadn’t even understood it himself.

_Stop this. Callum is gone, and he’s not coming back._

For all he knew the rogue was dead, after all. Dwelling on what might have been wouldn’t change things.

“Thank you for coming,” Felix said.

Dorian smiled at him. They were meeting in the chantry in Redcliffe. He didn’t much care for the chantry – it seemed to be often associated with Templars. Though he wasn’t from here he felt a strange feeling whenever he entered one. He didn’t have to worry about such things in Tevinter. After being here for three years, though, he felt uneasy like those around him.

“What do we know so far?” he asked.

He arrived a few days ago after receiving word from Felix. He’d tracked Felix down a few months ago and given him the location of where he would be staying – near the Storm Coast, away from prying eyes. It was harder to get items from towns and everything, but seemed safest from the war. Plus he was getting used to the sea air. The storms were just part of its charm.

He couldn’t stay in his hut near here, after what happened with Callum. He waited a few months, to see if Callum would return, but eventually it became dangerous. Bandits drew closer each day, as did the mages and Templars. Staying there seemed unwise so he left, after waiting as long as he could.

He was always waiting, it seemed. He couldn’t wait anymore.

_He’s probably dead, anyway._

“Follow me,” Felix said, leading him to a side room in the chantry.

xXx

An hour had passed since Hawke left. The meeting would begin in a few more hours. A lot of people were just waiting around. Callum was one of those people, pacing quietly through the available rooms and back again. A few times he passed the door to the room the Divine was supposedly in, but as he had no reason to eavesdrop, he didn’t linger.

_Why am I here…_

He didn’t have to be. Mere curiosity was his sole reason for being here. If Cullen looked too closely at his false identity, or asked anyone about him, he’d have every reason to toss Callum out of here, or worse. This was a serious event, after all.

_I should go…_

This was too close to his old life. Too close to Callum. He’d been living his life all over for a year, mostly up north where no one knew him. And yet here he was, somewhere familiar, where people recognized him. Hawke even called him by his name. It was strange, seeing a friend again. And somehow it made the memories spring to life, things he’d rather keep buried away.

_I’ll leave. This isn’t happening for a bit anyway._

He could leave for a bit and clear his head. Maybe stay away. He shouldn’t be here anyway.

As he was turning to leave, however, he passed by that door again.

And this time he heard a voice – a female voice calling out for help. Asking for someone to help her. At first he thought he was imagining it, but if something was wrong and he did nothing… he wouldn’t forgive himself. He would just pop his head in and see what was happening. He’d apologize if he was wrong, and leave.

He heard another strange voice when he began opening the door, though.

The sight that greeted him was strange – an older woman levitated off the ground with her arms spread, asking for help. Around her were people just allowing this to happen, helping to hold her up like that with some type of magic, and a darker figure stood in front of her.

_Well that’s not right._

“What’s going on here?” he demanded, stepping into the room.

xXx

Dorian was no stranger to keeping out of sight and attempting to keep a low profile, so hiding in the shadows of Redcliffe wasn’t very difficult. However this was the first time he was hiding from his fellow mages – _hunting_ his fellow mages, even. Alexius was wrapped up in something bad, and the time amulet was the key, Dorian just couldn’t figure out how yet. Something about it kept nagging at him. He kept getting this odd sense of déjà vu whenever he thought about it or walked around a certain place of Redcliffe.

It was this nagging feeling he couldn’t quite place but it was there all the same.

It took him a bit to figure it out. While hovering over Felix’s notes on his father’s plans and actions, he realized he knew the words before he read them. Mixed with what he already knew of the time amulet and that time travel was in fact possible, it wasn’t that hard to figure out.

_Alexius used time travel recently. Why?_

Figuring that out seemed vital but he wasn’t sure how to go about it. Revealing himself to Alexius now didn’t seem right, as he would stop learning information. He wasn’t going to learn anything new if he gave himself away. He would stop gathering information about the Venatori and would cause Alexius to grow wary, and the man already seemed paranoid.

It was understandable, of course.

Learning of Felix’s inevitable demise wasn’t something he wanted to hear. In the beginning there was denial. It was just so hard to image, Felix’s mom dead and him cursed to die soon due to the darkspawn. Darkspawn which hadn’t been around in a while. It just seemed so surreal. Felix was in good spirits, as always. That was what Dorian liked about him, though – he was an optimist even in the worst of times. A rare breed indeed.

_A unicorn._

The thought made him smile briefly. As a child his mother would pick him up and hold him, kissing his cheek as she called him her special little unicorn. As a child he was happy no matter what, constantly seeing the bright side. He missed that about himself almost as much as he missed the trust he used to share with his parents. But they turned their backs on him and he needed to get over it. It had been years, after all – time to move on.

_Always moving on._

Or waiting. Either way, he wasn’t very good at it.

He was currently staying in an inn – ironically the same inn he was in a year ago, speaking with Callum for the last time. Last time – it seemed so final. Dreadful thing. But it was the truth, and he found he didn’t like the inn’s small charm as he had before. The bed seemed far bigger than it had before. There was always room for two.

The door to his room suddenly burst open, leaving him reaching instinctively for his staff which he kept next to him on the bed. Felix entered the room and he sighed, shooting his friend a glare.

“You startled me,” he said. “We weren’t scheduled to meet today.”

“Something’s happened,” Felix said, eyes wide.

It took a lot to shock Felix. He was so accepting of everything. Dorian took in a breath and nodded, sitting back down on the bed, awaiting Felix’s words.

“There’s been an explosion,” he said.

“An explosion?” Dorian repeated with a frown.

“At the Conclave.”

That didn’t sound good. The Conclave was supposed to meet three days ago. He’d heard rumors of strange things in the Hinterlands from newcomers to the town, but as he had only been here roughly a week, he couldn’t be certain of anything. The Conclave was supposed to be a meeting between the mages and Templars to discuss peace finally. He’d been looking forward to it, really, but had been unable to attend due to his meetings with Felix. This was important and he could help more here than he could waiting at the Conclave, after all.

But now…

“The Divine is dead,” Felix told him.

“Maker…” he breathed, staring at his friend. Felix would never tell him something like this if he was not completely certain. Though shocked, Dorian knew it had to be true. “What happened?”

“No one knows,” Felix said. “They say the sky broke open.”

“The sky…”

Dorian had noticed a green glow in the sky, but had simply blamed it on exhaustion. He hardly slept these days – something always kept him up, be it waiting, trying to move on, or attempting to figure out the time amulet and Alexius’ plans with the Venatori. In truth he hadn’t been outside in two days, consumed with his research while waiting for his meeting with Felix, which was scheduled for tomorrow.

Felix took a big risk coming to see him without it being planned. This was serious.

“Demons are slipping out of the Fade,” Felix continued, sounding disbelieving himself. “It’s… It’s chaos, Dorian.”

Dorian chewed on his lower lip. “What do we know?”

“Not much. They’re saying they have the man responsible, but nothing’s clear. That’s all I’ve heard, I’m afraid.”

It would take a bit for news to reach them here in Redcliffe anyway. This news was already three days old, after all. A lot of people were dead, he knew. Briefly he thought of the explosion Anders caused at the chantry in Kirkwall. This death toll was worse, he was certain, and had to be planned by someone, as it was the only time the leaders of both sides of the war would be in one place at the same time.

“This is terrible,” Dorian said quietly, the gravity of the situation weighing on him.

It was then it hit him.

“Hawke,” he found himself muttering.

“What?”

Hawke was supposed to be at the Conclave, since he would be leading the Inquisition. While Anders was in Redcliffe he spoke of Hawke’s decision with pride. Dorian was happy the two friends had reconnected so well. Everyone deserved friends, after all, even if they made mistakes in the past.

A lot of people died at the Conclave, and Hawke was supposed to be there.

“I need to go to Haven immediately.”

Felix shook his head. “You won’t learn anything yet, and things need to calm down. You’ll be seen as an outsider and I’m certain tensions are higher than ever. You will be hunted.”

Felix had a point, but Hawke was a friend, even if he didn’t believe Dorian when he said Callum was alive.

“My friend is there,” he told Felix.

“The sad truth is you’ll do more good here than there, Dorian. We’ve been working on this for days. We can’t stop now, and they’re still sorting out the chaos. Give it a few more days, at least.”

Dorian hesitated, but the sad truth was Hawke was probably dead. Except that couldn’t be right, either. Hawke had to have gotten away. Perhaps he wasn’t at the Conclave at the time of the explosion – he was only there to lead the Inquisition after the meeting, after all, not to be part of the meeting itself. He had no reason to be at the Conclave itself. Perhaps he still lived.

“I’m sure your friend is okay,” Felix offered.

Dorian smiled faintly.

If only he had strength to be a unicorn like Felix.


	19. Marked Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callum wakes up with a new addition to his hand. Dorian struggles to make sense of a letter from Hawke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm surprised I wrote this so quickly, to be honest. I am also still going off memory, so xD Things are probably wrong, but again, AU. Thoughts?

Chapter Eighteen: Marked Man

 

The return to consciousness was as sudden as it ever was. Awakening from sleep was different than waking from being unconscious. There was no easy awakening filled with a sense of lazy peace. Instead there was this sudden rush of adrenaline pumping through one’s veins, flinging them unceremoniously into awareness. It was all sudden and chaotic and left his head spinning, but not as much as when he tried to move. He was in cuffs of sorts, a wooden bar strung over both his wrists, holding them in place. The room in which he found himself was dark and unfamiliar, and as the rush of adrenaline wore off, he felt the stirrings of pain.

Intense, white-hot pain rolling through his body in quick waves, stemming from his hand. As he lifted his left hand and turned it over to gaze down at the palm through hazy vision, there was a mark on the palm. A cut of sorts, it looked like, except where red blood should flow, instead a green light emerged. There was also this strange crackling sound which left his blood freezing. He remembered the last time he heard such a sound – when he traveled seven months into the future. A future he didn’t want.

_What happened…_

Callum prided himself on never being surprised. Twice had he been mistaken. Once, as a boy of ten on the night his family was murdered. The second time, after arriving suddenly seven months in the future. And now a third time – left wondering what happened to leave him in such a state.

Being in cuffs – it was an occupational hazard, really, when one was an assassin of sorts. So that was at least a little understandable, even though he hadn’t considered himself a working assassin in a year now. But the mark on his hand was another matter entirely.

He could think of no wound which leave such a mark, let alone that green glow and crackling noise. As he looked at the mark it crackled again, green light flaring to life along with a fresh wave of pain. It left him hissing, gritting his teeth sharply as he looked around again, struggling to find even a bit of clarity but sadly found nothing except an empty room. A cold, dark, empty room where he sat against a wall, mostly leaning against it.

The fog in his mind left him puzzled. He usually had such a good memory – what happened? The last time he’d been so confused was, again, the time traveling, but that was understandable. Now…

Did he sustain a head injury? Sometimes that caused memory loss.

Except his head felt fine. The only real pain he had was from his hand, traveling up his arm into his shoulder. It throbbed and burned and due to the cuffs he couldn’t even apply pressure to the mark, and attempt to control the pain. Instead it was left to roll through him, but he was well trained in pain management. He took a breath and mentally said his mantra.

_Pain is only a state of mind. Pain is only a state of mind._

As he compartmentalized the pain to the best of his ability, he began to notice small details around the room. Not only was it cold and dark but there was a single door across the room. Light spilled through from beneath it.

The light was suddenly blocked. The door burst open.

A familiar face looked back at him.

“Callum,” said the Seeker in her thick accent as she stood there, arms crossed, with a woman wearing a hood behind her. “I thought you were dead.”

“Rumors of my death might have been incorrect,” Callum said weakly, shrugging. “What happened, Cassandra? Why am I here?”

“Do you remember what happened? How this began?” asked the other woman. Callum struggled to remember her name. Leliana, maybe? Lillian?

No, Leliana. He had fun saying it before. He remember that much at least.

He shook his head slowly, frowning. “I don’t remember anything. What happened? Why am I here?”

“The Conclave was destroyed,” Cassandra said, watching him closely. It occurred to him then he was being interrogated. The lighting, the mood, the atmosphere… the bloody cuffs. He was a suspect, and the Conclave was destroyed.

“You think I did it,” he said quietly, and Cassandra inclined her head ever so slightly in agreement. He took in a slow breath, attempting to reel in his racing thoughts. “I don’t remember anything. I… I remember traveling here, to witness the outcome of the Conclave, but… I don’t…”

After that it was a blur. He vaguely remembered something else.

His eyes widened. “Hawke. I remember Hawke.”

“Hawke is well,” Cassandra said, and relief flowed through him like a soothing river washing away the temporary panic. “He was not at the Conclave at the time of the explosion, thankfully. But everyone at the Conclave, including the _Divine_ , died. Except you.”

“Except me,” he echoed, frowning. That made no sense. He twisted his hand, palm facing upward as the green light crackled again, pain stabbing up his arm. “What about this?”

“We do not know.” She took in a slow breath, watching him. “As of right now you are our only suspect.”

“Me? But… You think I did this? To myself?”

“Perhaps that was an unforeseen consequence,” Cassandra said with a shrug.

“You can’t believe I did this.”

There mere thought was crazy!

“I do not want to believe it, but why else would only you survive? And you lied to Cullen about who you were.”

He bit his lower lip. Some habits died hard. “I was just… I didn’t mean anything by it. I just… it’s been a long time since people called me Callum.”

“So you have been in hiding.”

“Not for any crime or anything,” he said quickly, seeing where this was going. “I just… everyone already thought I was dead, I saw no reason to disturb their lives by revealing I was alive. It seemed… easier, that way.”

“And was it?”

“Not really.”

Cassandra sighed and looked at Leliana. “Go to the forward camp. We will meet you there.”

Leliana nodded and left the room, keeping the door open as she left. Light poured into the room nearly blinding him. There was this harsh green tone to the sky, which seemed… wrong. And yet familiar, as it reminded him of his hand.

“What’s happening?” he asked when Cassandra moved toward him, unlocking the wooden bar holding his wrists hostage. He rubbed tenderly at his wrists, wincing as he’d apparently gotten them raw when he was unconscious.

“I can’t explain – I must show you.”

He nodded and followed her out of the room.

Outside there was a giant green mark in the sky, much like on his hand. It seemed like the sky just ripped open, revealing a dark, hidden world of green behind it. The entire area seemed darker than it should have been. The green light cast odd shadows onto the world below. For a moment he was transfixed, staring up at it, before it began to crackle and glow, stretching further across the sky in a wide arc.

As it did so, the pain in his hand returned as light emerged from the mark upon his palm, leaving him crashing to his knees, stunned by the sudden onslaught.

“Each time the Breach expands, the mark on your hand grows.” Cassandra knelt next to him. “And it _is_ killing you.”

_The Breach… is attached to my hand. Interesting._

And terrible. It was killing him – she even said so. It was the first time he’d actually been _told_ he was going to die. He’d been threatened before, sure, and he’d thought he was going to die, but there was never anyone clearly stating it was going to happen. He was dying even as he stayed there on his knees as the pain began to fade.

“The mark may be the key to stopping it,” she said. “It is our only chance.”

He wasn’t sure how this mark could possibly help – after all, it was small enough to fit on the palm of his hand, and the Breach was covering what he could see of the sky – but he was willing to try anything. If this Breach was allowed to keep growing… leaking green light everywhere…

It couldn’t be good. People were already dead though he wasn’t sure how. He wondered if the memories would return to him if he just waited long enough, but somehow he doubted it. Why couldn’t he remember anything?

Perhaps it had to do with the mark on his palm, but that was on his hand, nowhere near his head. He honestly had no idea.

“I’ll try,” he said quietly, and Cassandra held his gaze for a moment before she grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet.

As they began to walk in the direction of the Breach, he noticed a small crowd of people gathered outside, glaring at him.

“They have decided your guilt,” she told him.

_Oh. They think I caused everything._

The mark on his head did seem like incriminating evidence, he had to admit. Even so, he knew he didn’t do this – _couldn’t_ do this. Even if he was a mage he wouldn’t know how to do this, nor have the power to alter the _sky_ of all things.

“There are smaller breaches but this is the largest,” Cassandra was saying when he tuned back into her voice.

“What are they?”

“Rifts. Breaches. Into the Fade.”

_The Fade again._

He wasn’t a mage and yet it always returned to the Fade somehow. Demons came from the Fade. That was all he really knew about it, and that it was tied to mages, but other than that he knew very little despite his search for information. He knew a little more about shades. If there were rifts then demons had to be coming through them, including shades.

_I hate shades._

As they traveled out of the small camp toward the growing green light, a bridge gave way as they were crossing it. The fall left his head spinning but he pushed himself to his feet anyway, looking around to see Cassandra already moving, brandishing her sword and shield. The creature before her was familiar.

For a moment, Callum was frozen.

For the first time since he was ten, he saw the living shadows again.

He had forgotten what they looked like. He’d forgotten how tall they were, how quickly they moved like a snake slithering with an upright body and long arms branching out of it. He’d forgotten how dark they were, how lethal. That one unblinking eye, or what he assumed to be an eye. In truth he had no idea, but he didn’t care.

He moved forward a few steps only to nearly trip over a dagger. Looking down he saw two of them resting along the fallen pieces of wood from the bridge.

_How convenient._

Quickly he snatched the daggers, twirling them briefly in his hands, the weight familiar and right despite the mark on his palm. Without the crackling the pain wasn’t as severe and he could easily ignore it.

He’d forgotten what it felt like to stab his daggers deep into something’s flesh, but as they connected with the body of the shade in front of him he couldn’t help but feel this odd sense of satisfaction. The rush of adrenaline was familiar as well. The two shades were defeated easily enough, with him killing one – and it felt so _right_ to kill it after remembering what happened to his family – and Cassandra killing the other.

She looked at him afterward, holding her sword up like she wanted to point it at him but couldn’t bring herself to do so.

“I didn’t do this,” he told her quietly.

“I want to believe you,” she said, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter; I cannot protect you. You should have a way to defend yourself.”

He nodded in gratitude. He felt naked without his blades.

They continued moving only to run into more shades. Each time he drove his daggers home into their shadowy flesh he couldn’t help but feel this odd mirth consuming him. It was like avenging his family all over again, even though the blood mage was already dead. Satisfaction flooded through him with each shade he killed.

As they approached a large stairway leading up a large hill, Cassandra spoke.

“You can hear the fighting.”

“Who’s fighting?” he asked, still pumped with adrenaline.

“You’ll see.”

They finally made it up the last of those stairs. A smaller version of the large rift in the sky waited for them, hovering over a group of shades. It crackled and Callum’s hand throbbed and glowed again. He winced, took in a breath, and moved forward stealthily. He drove his daggers into a shade’s back before it could realize he was there. A fatal mistake on its part.

He wasn’t paying much mind to who he was fighting with until his wrist was snagged by a thin hand, fingers a vice around his already throbbing left wrist. His hand was raised toward the rift and the crackling grew worse.

Something amazing happened then.

A beam of green light shot from his hand to the rift, connecting the two of them. Energy flooded through him, adrenaline coursing through his veins once again with this strange, warm yet icy feeling he couldn’t quite identify or describe. The line of green lasted only a few seconds, but suddenly as he clenched his hand into a fist, pain sparking up his arm, the light from the rift shattered, imploding on itself somehow.

The rift disappeared leaving a vague outline where it once rested.

He stared at the disappearing line and then blinked at his hand, the mark no longer glowing nor aching, save for a residual pain he barely felt. Then he took a breath and looked at the person who had snagged his arm.

Semi-familiar wide eyes looked back at him, leaving him frowning as he struggled to remember who this was.

“Solas,” he said finally.

The elf blinked at him. “You remember.”

“How did you know that would work?”

“I didn’t. I theorized it might help close the rifts, and it seems I was right.”

“How did you know?” Callum asked again, still in awe over what just happened.

There was a rift, leaking shades and demons into this world from the Fade, and a tiny mark on his hand closed it somehow. That was amazing. A miracle if ever there was one.

“Solas is an apostate; well-versed in such matters,” Cassandra said.

Callum smirked thinly. “We met before.”

“Did you?” she asked, sounding semi-intrigued.

“It was a long time ago,” Callum said, shaking his head before he looked at the other member of their small group, a blonde-haired dwarf sporting an impressive crossbow.

“The name’s Varric,” said the dwarf. “Rogue, storyteller, and unwelcome tagalong.”

Callum smirked at the rather chipper yet smooth tone of the dwarf’s voice, feeling himself relax marginally. “ _The_ Varric? Varric Tethras?”

“So you’ve heard of me,” Varric said proudly.

“Hawke talked about you.”

“You know Hawke?” Varric seemed surprised.

“I used to,” Callum said with a shrug. “I haven’t… really talked to him in a while. I just saw him at the Conclave. Is he okay?”

Varric looked at Cassandra, then.

Cassandra nodded. “He is fine, and waiting for us at the forward camp.”

“Then we should be going,” Varric said.

“We?” Cassandra asked. “I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine. That is clearly no longer necessary.”

“Look around – your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need all the help you can get.”

“I’m still confused,” Callum said, shaking his head. “Let’s just keep moving, okay? I need to talk to Hawke.”

xXx

The forward camp was small and crowded, filled with injured people mixed in with able-bodied people. The green mark in the sky glowed brighter than ever – looming ominously in the distance. A chill crawled up Callum’s spine as his hand throbbed once more. The closer they got the more it started to hurt – more intensely each time, as well, nearly bringing him to his knees. Only his exercises in pain management left him able to keep moving and using his daggers, though by this point in the fighting, his left hand seemed a little useless save for its new glowing, rift closing abilities.

His greeting at the forward camp became antagonistic almost immediately as a chancellor demanded he be prepared for execution. A grim smile slid across his face at the mention of sudden death, as he’d already been told this mark was killing him. Who would mourn an assassin who hadn’t been seen in a year and was going by another name? No one.

Cassandra stood up for him, surprisingly. It wasn’t that he and Cassandra didn’t get along, it was just that she had surprised him a lot lately with how trusting she could be. She seemed to be putting a lot of it on faith alone – there was a mountain of evidence pointing at him as the culprit, since he was the only one to survive and now he had this strange mark on his hand which was capable of closing the rifts. But she not only uncuffed him but allowed him to carry his own means of attacking things. He could have easily stabbed her in the back and escaped, but he didn’t, and she took that on faith at first. Blind faith that he wouldn’t betray her. Perhaps the impression he had on her so long ago, after taking Hawke to her that first time, left a decent impact after all.

Strange how the past could connect so readily with the future, without time travel involved.

“What should we do?”

And suddenly everyone was looking at him, including the chancellor, though his gaze was more accusatory than anything. “Now you’re asking me what I think?”

“You are the one who must survive,” Cassandra said with a shrug. “To work your mark on the Breach.”

_I don’t even know if that will work, but I’ll try._

What was the worst that could happen? It’d kill him?

_Dying anyway, and this man wants to execute me. Either way I’m screwed, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?_

No one would mourn the nobody.

“Take the mountain path,” he said, nodding in the direction of such a path. A scouting group had gone missing through there, and it was the safest way to the Breach. If he was in fact supposed to survive until they reached that place, it seemed the best route for the time being.

To his surprise everyone nodded and cleared the way for him to lead the way in that direction.

“Where is Hawke?” he asked. “I need to speak with him.”

“You can after,” Cassandra said, shaking her head. “I am sorry, but this is more important.”

He chewed on his lower lip, but finally nodded and continued leading the way even though he barely knew this area.

_I might not be alive then. But by then it won’t matter, will it?_

xXx

It was incredibly hard to attempt to focus on making progress in Redcliffe after hearing about the explosion at the Conclave. Dorian’s mind kept wandering to Hawke and if the mage was okay. It was true he and Hawke hadn’t spoken much since he attempted to tell him Callum was alive, but he still considered the mage a friend. They still corresponded through letters when they could, keeping tabs on each other as the war worsened.

That was how he knew Hawke was at the Conclave. He’d even contemplated joining him, curious as to what would happen, but now he wondered if his indecision combined with Felix’s request for his help had saved him in the end. He wondered if Hawke still lived. He wondered about a lot of things and found himself waiting on answers.

Always waiting.

_I am so tired of waiting._

It felt like he’d been waiting for years.

_What would Callum think of all of this?_

Again, though, thoughts of the rogue were better left in the dark corners of his mind, unseen but there all the same.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and the thickening stubble lining his face as he returned his focus onto the notes in front of him. Felix managed to get a hold of Alexius’ itinerary for the past week, and it was rather odd to say the least. Especially with that foreboding sense of déjà vu. Not to mention the time travel aspect few people knew about.

There was a knock on the door, then, and he looked up to find Felix entering.

“Anything about the Conclave?” Dorian asked.

“I received word from there, yes,” Felix said, hesitating.

_Oh, no. Why hesitate?_

“What are you not saying?”

Did he have news on Hawke?

“You often speak of an old friend,” Felix said slowly, eying him carefully like he might snap any moment. Dorian resented that look, to be honest, and found himself straightening as he narrowed his eyes.

“Speak clearly, please. What do you mean? Is Hawke okay?”

“Hawke is fine, or so I’m told. He wasn’t at the Conclave at the time of the explosion, but at Haven.”

_Well, that’s something, at least._

It was a massive weight lifted off Dorian’s shoulders. “Then what is the problem?”

“You are an artist, yes?” Felix asked.

Dorian frowned. He hadn’t thought anyone knew about that. “Living in Tevinter requires a certain skill,” he said evasively, hoping Felix didn’t mean what he thought he did.

“I saw the pictures, Dorian.”

Dorian scowled. “They are old. They don’t matter.”

As a child he liked to draw. As his studies grew, the ability to add fine details to anything was necessary is some areas, especially necromancy. If things, symbols, weren’t perfect there could be terrible mistakes with horrible consequences. He hadn’t drawn in a long time, not since he left Tevinter, until a few months ago when the images continued to haunt him. He thought if he got them down on paper, out of his head, things would be better, but somehow it only made things worse.

Felix took in a slow breath. “I received word from Hawke. A letter addressed to me, but really for you.”

“I see,” Dorian said, smiling faintly. “So he’s alive, then.”

“Yes, but there’s more.”

“More?”

“You often speak of your old friend, Callum.”

Dorian looked away. He didn’t mention it that often, right? Perhaps once or twice, but he tried not to think of Callum. Tried not to think of waiting seven long months only to ruin everything. It had been a year, after all – he should have been over this by now. What was wrong with him?

_You grow too attached. You always did have a problem with that._

This was true. He always wanted more than he was given. On some deep level he wanted more than quick encounters stolen in empty rooms, having to ignore the urges immediately afterward and never speak of it again.

“You should read this.”

Felix handed him a folded piece of parchment. Dorian accepted it with a frown, wondering why Felix was being so shifty, before he opened the paper and began to read Hawke’s familiar, sloppy scrawl. His handwriting was truly atrocious. In Tevinter he would be chastised for such a thing and would be forced to have better handwriting. A fine hand was required there, after all.

_Dorian,_

_You were right about Callum._

Dorian stopped there, taking in a sharp breath. He’d tried to convince Hawke Callum was alive but had disappeared again, but his efforts had been in vain as Hawke only assumed it was wishful thinking on Dorian’s part. And now he went out of his way to send Dorian a message telling him he was right about Callum. That could only mean one thing.

_He met Callum…_

A knot forming in his gut, he continued reading the short message.

_Dorian,_

_You were right about Callum. He’s here – at the Conclave. I’m in Haven right now, since the meeting was postponed a few hours. I figured I’d go ahead and tell you while I still knew where you were, and you’re nearby. I asked him to join me in Haven but he declined. Perhaps after the Conclave we can travel to Redcliffe. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I did want to say sorry for not believing you._

_Your friend,_

_Caleb Hawke_

Dorian re-read the letter a few times, struggling to comprehend what he was hearing. In his gut he knew what he didn’t want to acknowledge. This was sent before the explosion. This was why Hawke wasn’t at the Conclave.

But someone was.

_Callum was at the Conclave._

The Conclave that was destroyed in a massive explosion, killing everyone.

That included a sandy-haired rogue named Callum.

His fingers dropped the letter. It floated to the ground as he quickly reached for his staff and moved toward the door. Felix blocked his path, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, Dorian,” Felix said quietly, voice filled with sympathy.

“I need to go to Haven immediately,” Dorian found himself saying quickly, lips moving faster than he could really form the words with his tongue, producing this strange clicking sound. “Callum-”

“-was at the Conclave,” Felix finished for him, reaching for his shoulders. “Dorian, I’m sorry. I know he was your friend.”

 _Was_.

“I need to go to-”

“It won’t help,” Felix said, watching him carefully, grip firm on his shoulders. “No one survived, Dorian. _No one_. Your friend was at the Conclave at the time of the explosion. I’m sorry.”

Dorian shook his head, struggling to process everything, but it wasn’t working. He had been worried about Hawke – it had never entered his mind to think Callum would be at the Conclave. In truth he had wondered if the rogue was even alive, and now he found out Callum was at the Conclave when it exploded and killed everyone.

_He’s dead._

It seemed so incredibly surreal.

Seven months of waiting for him to reappear, only to chase him off afterward… A year of attempting to forget that moment… always waiting on things to get better when they never did…

And now this.

He had wondered if Callum was dead.

And now he knew he died in a terrible explosion.

It would have been quick. He wouldn’t have felt a thing.

Somehow that didn’t make him feel better.

_I have to know for sure. I can’t…_

“I have to go to Haven.”

“Dorian, that won’t help. You will do more good here.”

Dorian glared at Felix, a man he thought positive and compassionate. “My _friend_ might have just been killed – don’t you think I should be there?”

“There is nothing you can do for him now,” Felix said, shaking his head. “And we need to figure out this thing with the Venatori, Dorian.”

“I don’t care about the bloody Venatori!”

“You don’t mean that.”

He took in a breath. No, he didn’t mean that. The Venatori were worrisome and needed to be sorted out, but this was his friend they were talking about. A friend he’d been searching for – waiting for – off and on for a year now. Even longer, if he counted the seven months. He had to know for sure either way – if Callum somehow lived and they could reconnect, or if he in fact died and it might finally give him the push he needed to truly stop waiting and finally move on like he should have a long time ago.

_I won’t get attached ever again._

It only led to this – _chaos_ in his mind, in his thoughts and feelings and it was terrible.

The Venatori would still be here when he returned, after all. Just a quick trip to Haven to find out for sure. To see what would become of all his waiting and wondering and worrying. He had to know. It was this overwhelming _need_ inside of him he couldn’t ignore.

“I’m going to Haven,” he told Felix firmly, “and if you try to stop me, you will not be happy with the outcome.”

“Dorian, please think about this. Would your friend want you to do this, turn your back on the threat we face to simply find out about him?”

Dorian shook his head, scowling. “Do not speak as if you know him.”

Felix and Callum, to his knowledge, had never met. Felix was being selfish in his desire for Dorian to stay. Or was Dorian the one being selfish, wanting to leave for his own needs instead of staying to help resolve a threat?

_Perhaps it is me…_

“Write your friend back,” Felix said, nodding toward the forgotten letter on the ground. “Don’t do anything rash. Ask questions – he will answer.”

Dorian was torn, uncertain what he should do. He wanted to be there even if Callum was in fact dead to at least pay his respects, and if he was alive… He dared not to hope. He wasn’t the unicorn, after all.

But Felix was right.

He was needed here at the moment. Lives could depend on his choices here, on what he learned about Alexius and the Venatori, and that time amulet.

Somehow it seemed like the key.

“Very well,” he said roughly, looking away, the words bitter on his tongue, the taste of betrayal, “I will do as you ask. I will stay.”


	20. Forfeit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callum investigates the scene at the Temple of Sacred Ashes and contemplates death. Dorian makes up his mind about Haven after receiving another letter from Hawke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terribly sorry if this chapter is terrible - I have had a really bad headache all day and it hurts so much, and I'm loopy due to my meds, and... yeah. I also drew Callum and Dorian, so that's fun ;) I actually managed to draw clothes, dear God. Anyway, I'm trying to start another playthrough of the game so I can get dialogue and stuff since this is still from memory, so I don't know when the next update will be, sadly. Thoughts?

Chapter Nineteen: Forfeit

 

The Breach was bigger than Callum thought, and a lot higher in the sky. Of course it was, though – but the beginning of it remained higher off the ground that he’d previously thought. He stared at it over the edge of a balcony in the charred remains of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He was here not long ago when it was intact, speaking to Hawke. After that everything was hazy. He vaguely remembered a woman, but he couldn’t be sure. He hoped his memory would return in due time but if this would kill him, he’d never know.

“I don’t know if I can reach that, much less close it,” he admitted softly.

“No, this is the first, and the largest,” Solas said. “Close it and it may stop the rest.”

It was discussed without his input then – the fact the Breach was closed but not correctly. They could reopen it and seal it properly, but it would mean disturbing demons in the Fade which would leave them attacking them. All Callum understood was the fact there would be a fight on his hands, and if he was to die today, he was at least happy he could kill a few more demons, and shades.

“Find a safe way down,” Cassandra said.

_Show time, then._

Adrenaline rushed through him. He might die in the next few minutes – it was entirely possible. To say he had mixed feelings was an understatement. He didn’t know what he felt – regret, guilt, despair… he truly had no idea. He just felt numb at the moment. He had something to focus on – a job to do.

He could think of nothing else right now.

The drop wasn’t far, so he merely jumped over the railing to the balcony and landed on his feet on the ground beneath the large rift hovering in the sky. It was up so high – he honestly had no idea how he was doing to reach it to be able to do anything. He was short, after all. Had been all his life. Not only that but he had no idea how this ability even worked. He’d closed a few rifts by now, of course, traveling to this very area, but that did not mean he was an expert at it. He merely willed the rift to close, wriggled his fingers, and the rift disappeared. He had no idea how he did any of that, but it was exhausting and painful and being this close to the main rift left him seeing white as pain shot up his arm into his shoulder and neck.

He took in a slow breath, attempting to steel himself. Behind him he heard Varric, Cassandra, and Solas approach. He wanted to speak with Hawke before he died. See for himself his friend was okay, ask him… well, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to ask him. Perhaps ask him how Dorian was, as he hadn’t seen the mage in a long time. He knew how Emry was doing – still doing his jobs as an assassin but now with a new partner – and now Hawke, Fenris, and Anders, but he hadn’t gotten to ask him about Dorian.

No, that wasn’t right.

He had the chance to ask – he just couldn’t find the words.

He could never seem to find the words until it was too late, and now he wouldn’t get the chance to say anything to anyone ever again. He wouldn’t get to speak to Hawke or ask about Dorian, or see any of his friends again.

It seemed rather apt that he would die here, as Callum died a long time ago. Perhaps this was simply the next step.

It all felt so surreal. He had to stop thinking about his own death.

As he neared the large rift voices echoed around him.

“What’s going on here?” asked a voice which sounded familiar and yet so strange. He’d never heard himself talk before – at least not when he was actually speaking the words. Now he heard his voice as though he were someone else entirely, and it only left his stomach clenching further.

“That was your voice,” Cassandra said, frowning at him.

“Someone… help me,” called out a female voice, and it struck a chord within him, leaving him frowning.

That voice was… familiar, somehow. As were the words. Why?

“Divine Justinia,” Cassandra whispered reverently. “Most Holy called out to you. But… why…?”

“I don’t remember anything,” Callum said with a shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“We cannot waste more time,” Solas cautioned.

Callum eyed the rift. It seemed so large, looming over him, whispering of his upcoming demise. He could see himself a few moments form now, the rift close and himself lifeless on the ground. The pain was nearly unbearable right now; he couldn’t imagine what it would feel like when he was actually trying to close this massive rift.

He could only hope it would be fast.

Pain, white-hot and swift, then dark oblivion.

That was really all one could ask for in the end.

He raised his hand toward the rift. _Um. Open? Realign yourself? Hello?_

_Maker, I’m terrible at this._

The rift began to change then, though, pieces of darker green pulling free of the lighter green like shards of reality struggling to reattach themselves. As this happened, a line of green shot out of the darker area and a massive demon appeared. It was very tall, snarling as it hit the ground and materialized from the Fade, already charging at them and releasing a chain of lightning which nearly knocked Callum off his feet. Quickly he jumped to the side and was startled when Solas’ barrier wrapped around him, granting him a brief moment of respite.

He shot the mage an appreciative glance but Solas was occupied, slinging spells at the demon. Callum took a breath and entered stealth mode, going invisible to the naked eye. As the demon charged again, though, it nearly hit him and he had to leap to the side again, even as invisible as he was. Cassandra was up close and personal with the beast, hiding behind her shield as she slashed ruthlessly at the demon’s knees. It roared angrily and lashed out at her. She managed to bring her shield up at the last second, deflecting the majority of the blow away from her face.

She still staggered back a step, though. This beast was massive and their attacks seemed to be doing very little damage. Callum joined the fight, sinking his daggers into the demon’s back thighs since that was as high up as he could get, finally emerging from his stealth mode. The demon spun to face him, a clawed hand hitting him, the last of Solas’ barrier taking the blow before it withered and died. Callum sucked in a sharp breath because even through the barrier, the hit still hurt, he just wasn’t bleeding. This demon was strong and they needed to end this soon.

“Stun him!” Solas shouted at him.

“How?” Callum asked.

“Use your hand!”

_Oh. Right. Of course._

He looked back at the rift and raised his hand toward it again. As a thin line of green light connected his palm to the rift high above them in the sky, he could physically feel it charging. Energy flowed through him as though he’d been struck by lightning, causing adrenaline to rush through him and ignite fury in his veins. He clenched his hand into a fist and a small explosion emitted from the rift in the sky, only disturbing the demon. The demon seemed to slow for a moment, looking dazed. Cassandra slashed at it again, Varric fired his crossbow at it, and Solas used an ice spell to attempt to hold it in place longer.

Eventually the daze wore off, though, and Callum watched as Cassandra was hit and flung to the side as though she were nothing. Her shield was all that saved her from those claws. Even so she hit the ground hard and rolled twice before stopping with a groan, propping herself up on her elbows, reaching for her sword and shield again as they had flown free of her grip during her brief flight.

Callum went invisible again, attempting to calm his breathing and racing heart so the beast wouldn’t hear him approaching. This was hard to do, though, as pain coursed through him, his hand throbbing as though it had been burned raw and was bleeding green, forever glowing as they remained here. It would be better, maybe, if he had armor. He wouldn’t feel so sore then. As it was, he didn’t arrive at the Conclave wearing armor. He woke in that room without armor, wearing only a light green outfit that seemed to be mocking him.

If he took a good hit, that was it.

_Okay, Callum. Focus._

He steeled himself and lashed out at the beast’s thighs again, causing it to howl and spin around with its line of electricity already springing toward him. He jumped back and released a gasp when Solas’ barrier hit him, shielding him from the blow which would have at the very least knocked him off his feet, at the worst maybe killed him.

He would seriously have to thank Solas if he survived this.

The rift darkened again, green shards everywhere, and he raised his hand once more toward it. Again came the crackling and the charging, and then finally the minor explosion which only seemed to bother the demon. This didn’t happen before shades appeared, though. Thankfully they, too, were stunned, but only briefly. He sank his daggers into the back of one of them, getting in a good hit before the shade spun toward him, no longer dazed, lashing out at him with clawed hands.

He jumped back just in time, though the claws caught on the front of his shirt, ripping into it, revealing how close he came to death. Solas’ barrier was fading and nearly gone, as they didn’t last very long, sadly, and he quickly lashed out with both his daggers in a spinning twist of blades, easily finishing the shade off. Shades weren’t so bad when they weren’t springing out of the shadows to kill one’s family.

After killing two more shades he managed to lift his hand again and daze the demon one last time. Exhaustion flooded through him mixing with the adrenaline, leaving him feeling strangely unsteady. He sank his daggers once more into the beast and watched with satisfaction as it finally went to its knees and collapsed, finally dead. Cassandra, leaning to one side and using her sword as a cane, nodded at him, expression firm, and he took in a breath and faced the glowing rift with the light green color, the darker shards finally gone.

_Okay, Callum. This is it._

_If I die… I’m sorry._

He wasn’t sure who he wanted to apologize to, but the thought appeared nevertheless.

He sucked in a shaky breath and raised his hand. If he died, so be it. If this mark on his hand could help save others, then he was fine with his life being forfeit for the greater good. He just hoped it would be quick.

_Just be quick, that’s all I ask. Don’t let me linger._

The pain was white-hot agony ripping through him like sharp daggers of betrayal. His breath caught sharply in his throat, leaving him gasping and swallowing and attempting to think through the thickening haze around his thoughts, the fog of pain.

Just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, the pain disappeared, leaving behind only blissful darkness.

The darkness of oblivion as his consciousness slipped away without a fight.

xXx

_No… No, that won’t do…_

Dorian sighed in frustration, fingers tugging at tussled strands of his dark hair, pulling a few strands free. He pushed away his notes on his attack plan for Alexius. Nothing seemed right when approaching the man who used to be his mentor. Going in as a friend would make him suspicious as to why Dorian would come now, and how he knew anything about the Venatori. That would reveal that Felix had been sharing information with him, and from what he’d heard of Alexius, his former mentor was getting rather paranoid. A part of Dorian could understand some of that, though. His son was dying; he was going to be a little paranoid and overprotective.

Dorian’s stomach clenched at the thought. Felix would soon be dead, just like Callum. Losing another friend, even thinking about it happening, so soon after the Conclave… it left his stomach churning. He wanted nothing more than to travel to the Conclave and make things right. If Callum was dead – _he’s dead, Dorian, get it through that thick skull of yours_ – then Dorian could at least say goodbye, which was more than he’d had before.

Callum said goodbye to him that last time they saw each other. The rogue said goodbye in that soft tone, filled with finality. Dorian still heard echoes of it in his dreams sometimes. One individual shouldn’t have been able to do this to him – leaving him waiting around for seven months and _still_ waiting after the rogue walked out on him.

No. After Dorian _chased_ him out.

Callum left because he thought Dorian didn’t want him there. Because Dorian said he didn’t want to care about him.

Had Dorian just shared the bed… said something to keep him there… revealed to him his dreams and thoughts and discussed things properly…

_Then he might be alive now._

If Dorian had only stopped him…

He might not be dead now.

But dwelling on ‘what-ifs’ wouldn’t help him. It wouldn’t help Callum, either. The only thing he could do which was helpful at the moment was attempt to figure out this Alexius situation. Why would Alexius alter time? Why would he ally himself with the Venatori? Dorian struggled to make sense of it, but it just didn’t seem like Alexius, not the man he knew. He was once a man to whom he compared all others, after all – now he was just a paranoid mage of the Venatori.

The Venatori gave all mages a bad name, but especially those from Tevinter. The people of southern Thedas already hated people from Tevinter; the Venatori weren’t helping matters.

He’d thought himself into circles by now, though, nearly a week after the explosion at the Conclave. He had sent a letter to Hawke, as Felix recommended, but had yet to receive a reply. As the days passed he grew more worried. Was Hawke okay? Was he still alive? Was Felix mistaken, and Hawke was actually at the Conclave as well at the time of the explosion?

_Did I lose them both…?_

The thought appeared unbidden and left him closing his eyes, taking in a slow breath which was meant to be calming but in reality only left him feeling more unstable. He stood from the small table in his room at the inn, rubbing at his eyes. He’d been staring at notes for hours now – _days_ , even. Just staring and wondering and waiting, and it never got any easier. His head hurt. He wanted to stop.

But if he stopped, this was all for nothing. If he stopped then he missed whatever funeral Callum might have had for nothing. Surely there was a goodbye ceremony for those lost at the Conclave already, and he missed it. He missed his friend’s funeral.

Nausea overcame him, then, leaving him swallowing back bile.

_What kind of friend am I? I missed the funeral…_

He pinched at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.

There was a knock at the door, then. He lifted his head and looked over to find Felix quietly entering the room. In his hand he held a folded paper, much like he had before when he first gave him Hawke’s note. The note mentioning Callum’s presence at the Conclave, hinting at his death.

“I didn’t read it,” Felix said. “It’s in Hawke’s handwriting; I knew it was for you.”

He held it out to Dorian. Dorian slowly accepted the note, hesitating. He’d asked very specifically, in his letter to Hawke, about Callum’s fate. He already knew the answer, but to read the words and realize it was all so very _true_ , was nothing he wished to do at the moment, or ever.

Felix offered an apologetic smile and bid him farewell, leaving him alone to read the note whenever he chose to do so. Dorian sat heavily on the bed in the room, staring down at the parchment in his hands, his name hastily scribbled across the front of it.

Carefully, he drew in a ragged breath and unfolded the letter.

 _Dorian,_ it read.

_Well… here goes._

It was time to learn he was correct and Callum was dead. Perhaps that would finally make everything stop feeling so incredibly raw.

_Dorian,_

_I can’t explain what’s happening here, but you need to come to Haven immediately. I can’t explain in a note. You asked about Callum – he’s alive, but he’s in bad shape. They don’t know if he’ll make it. It’s not looking good. Come to Haven if you can._

_Hawke_

Dorian reread the note several times, not daring to believe his eyes or Hawke’s hastily written words.

_He’s alive._

Callum was alive. Not dead, but very much _alive_. He somehow survived the explosion, or perhaps he wasn’t at the Conclave at the time of the explosion, much like Hawke. Relief ebbed through him, relieving him of the raw chill from before, but as reread the note for a fifth time he realized what Hawke was actually saying, without truly writing the words.

_Oh. Oh, no._

Dorian sucked in a sharp breath, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth as he shot to his feet, reaching for his staff.

Callum was dying, and Hawke was telling Dorian to come quickly if he wished to see him alive. Things were bad. He wondered if they had a healer in Haven, if Callum was being tended to. For all he knew, the rogue was already dead because he had no way of knowing when this letter was sent to him, or how long it took to reach him.

For all he knew, this trip would be in vain.

_I don’t care. I’m going._

Even if it was too late, he needed to go if only to say farewell. Perhaps then he could finally forget what it meant to have such a close friend, and stop waiting endlessly on someone that would never return.

Even as he tried to prepare himself for the worst, he found himself clinging to that small touch of hope.

Hawke hadn’t said Callum would die – he said he thought he would. That meant there was a chance he would be okay, and Callum was very good at defying the odds.

Dorian scribbled a quick note for Felix, apologizing for his absence but explaining it anyway, leaving it for him to find should he go looking for Dorian at the inn. He would only try to stop Dorian if he knew he was leaving, as he’d done before. Dorian understood it was important to stop Alexius and the Venatori here, but they would still be here when he returned.

Callum might not be so lucky.

He could be dead already.

Dorian’s lips thinned as he opened the door to his room and swiftly walked out with what few belongings he’d brought with him, staff in his hand as he quickly left the inn.

_Hang on, my friend. I am coming._


	21. They're Happy with Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callum wakes up. Dorian arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry if it's terrible - my head is still on fire, sadly. Though I will be crashing soon due to my meds, so xD I should be knocked out in ten minutes. So that's good. Anyway - please let me know what you think, as I'm not sure about this chapter. I think it's... too fast, or something. But I'm out of it, so xD Thoughts?
> 
> Oh and I don't know if the elf when you wake up in Haven, is female or male? I'm going with a girl, but if it's wrong, sorry xD

Chapter Twenty: They're Happy with Me?

 

Consciousness returned as it always did – with a vengeance. Consciousness was a brutal bitch to be honest. Callum had a love hate relationship with it. Groaning, he blinked heavy eyelids open, pain echoing through his head briefly as he looked up at a ceiling. The room was brightly lit, both from the daylight pouring through the windows and candles flickering around the room, lighting it as well as attempting to keep it warm in the snowy months at Haven. The room was unfamiliar, but as he looked around, sitting up, an elf entered the room and gasped upon noticing he was awake, immediately dropping what she was carrying.

“I didn’t know you were awake,” the elf said shakily. “I swear!”

The elf’s eyes were wide and she actually looked terrified, like he might hurt her. Frowning, he threw his legs over the side of the bed, facing her completely.

“Why are you frightened?” he asked, confused. The last thing he remembered was pain, severe and white-hot behind his eyes and throbbing through his arm. He glanced down at his hand which crackled faintly, but the pain was less intense, thankfully.

“That’s wrong, isn’t it?” the elf said worriedly, meshing her hands together nervously. “I’ve said the wrong thing.”

“I don’t think so,” he said slowly, watching her.

_Why is she so skittish? Does she think I will hurt her?_

_I’m not the bad guy…_

He would never hurt someone that didn’t deserve it, and he specially wouldn’t just attack someone for saying the wrong thing like she seemed to think.

“I beg your forgiveness,” the elf said, “and your blessing.”

_My…? What? What’s going on?_

“You are back in Haven, My Lord. They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing just like the mark on your hand. It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days.”

_Three days…? I… closed it? Stopped it, anyway, and… and lived?_

To say he was shocked would be a massive understatement.

“They’re… happy with me?” he found himself asking, because last he heard he was the main suspect for what happened at the Conclave. Everyone thought him guilty, throwing him nasty glares all the while, threatening him with execution…

“I’m only saying what I heard,” she said quickly, scrambling back a step, reminding him of a skittish mouse. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m certain Lady Cassandra would like to know you’ve wakened. She said at once.”

“And where is she?” he asked, frowning.

“In the chantry with the chancellor. At _once_ , she said.”

And then the elf scurried away and he was left sitting alone in the room, quietly shaking his head even as laughter bubbled somewhere deep inside him, quickly bursting free of his mouth even as he struggled to hold the sound in. The laughter felt so strange – it had been a long time since he truly laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time… perhaps with Dorian, before he left for good.

A part of him wondered where the mage might be, if he was doing well, if he was still alive. He never got to ask Hawke about it. But now he had the chance to do so, because he actually survived, somehow. He thought for certain he was going to die attempting to close that rift, stopping the Breach from growing.

_But I lived. Someone out there must be watching out for me._

He nearly rolled his eyes at the thought.

_Yeah, right. And I’m Maker-sent._

He shook his head, chuckling quietly again, the feeling so strange to him now, and then finally pushed to his feet to walk carefully across the room on unsteady legs. His whole body was sore, but then he had at least been unconscious for three days, if not more. Who knew how long he had really been out? All he knew was it had been at least three days. At least three days of doing nothing except lying in bed.

He hated being idle. He liked to keep moving. Whenever he stayed still too long now, his body ached in protest, demanding further movement.

He padded across the room, clad only in his small clothes – perhaps that was that elf was so skittish, perhaps she was embarrassed to see him like this – and shivered briefly as his gaze landed on a paper on a small table near the window. Yawning and stretching, even as his toes curled as the chill seeped into his skin, he reached for the paper and lifted it up to read.

_Patient Observations_

_Vain hope: someone better at this than me takes over before the survivor expires. Notes in case._

_\--DAY ONE—_

_Clammy. Shallow breathing. Pulse over-fast. Not responsive. Pupils dilated._

_Mage says his scarring ‘mark’ is thrumming with unknown magic._

_Wish we could station a Templar in here, just in case._

That was the end of the notes, and he scowled as he reread it. Short, concise, to the point. But the threat of a Templar watching over him was just absurd – he was not a mage, nor did he have any magical powers. He just so happened to have a mark on his hand that could close rifts – that was all. Nothing major.

A chill inched up his spine and not from the cold. Scanning the notes again he realized he had come fairly close to dying. By this point death was an old friend, so it didn’t really bother him, dying. But living – living after he thought he was going to die put things into perspective.

_I’ve been running a long time._

The thought appeared unbidden but it was true. He wasn’t even sure why he’d been running, or what from, but here was, wasting time as always. Yawning, he rubbed at his eyes, shivered, and looked around for something to change into. He found green robes – scout robes, he knew – resting on the chair next to the table, waiting for him, along with his boots and daggers. He smiled briefly – someone had even taken the time to clean his daggers for him. That was very thoughtful. He’d have to thank them.

He pulled his clothes on and thanked the Maker it was long sleeved and warm. He was no stranger to the cold, but after having been mostly in the north this past year, he’d forgotten the chill of the south. He strapped his daggers carefully to his back and laced his boots, putting them on as well, before he finally felt ready to leave the room, no matter how much his muscles might protest.

It occurred to him then he wasn’t sure what was expected of him.

He was free, apparently – at least, he wasn’t in cuffs this time, or being held prisoner. If this was a cage it was rather nice. He was supposed to meet Cassandra in the chantry but he wasn’t sure why. Did she have further questions? He hadn’t remembered anything new, and by this point he was beginning to doubt he ever would.

He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t remember what happened at the Conclave, as he had sustained no head injury that he knew of, but dwelling on it wouldn’t help him remember. All it did was give him a headache. He had enough to worry about as it was, such as this mark on his hand. He wondered if Solas might know how to get rid of it, since he seemed to know a great deal about it all. He knew the mark would close the rifts, after all.

Callum quietly left his little cabin, surprised he even had a cabin to himself even if it was just for the moment, before he wandered through the small village of Haven. Tents were set up everywhere, as people had nowhere else to go after what happened at the Conclave. With that and the war, and now the Breach in the sky, safe havens were scarce. People would find sanctuary wherever they could, even in a small, snowy village.

The chantry looked the same as it always did. The same as every other chantry he’d been to, except rather small. He’d been in this particular chantry only twice before – once when accepting the job to locate Hawke, and again when he returned with Hawke. Speaking of the mage…

“You’re alive,” Hawke said, staring at him, just inside the chantry, speaking with Fenris.

Callum couldn’t help but smile. He knew Fenris couldn’t stay mad at Hawke, especially after the explosion. He had to have been worried about the mage. “Looks like it,” he said, shrugging. “Disappointed?”

Hawke smirked, shaking his head. “Of course not. It’s always good when a friend lives. How do you feel?”

Callum shrugged again. “Can’t complain, I guess. My memory’s still shit, but nothing I can do about that, I guess.”

“I’m sorry. You still remember nothing?”

He shook his head. “Not a thing. Oh, but before I nearly die again, I was wanting to speak with you about a few things.”

Hawke nodded slowly. “Such as?”

“Dorian,” Callum said, speaking the mage’s name for the first time in a long time. It felt… oddly freeing, and yet left him feeling rather raw as well. He didn’t like feeling like this at all. “How is he?”

“He is fine,” Hawke said carefully, and Callum narrowed his eyes.

“What are you not telling me?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“I sent him a letter,” Hawke said somewhat apologetically. “In my defense I thought you were going to die. I thought you’d want him here, and I thought he’d want to be here.”

“You… You what?” Callum asked, shaking his head as he struggled to comprehend what Hawke was saying. “Are you saying he’s coming _here_?”

His pulse raced when Hawke nodded, smiling at him. “I think he is. I haven’t received a response.”

“What did you tell him, exactly?”

It had been such a long time since he spoke to or about Dorian, he wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to ask. Were they still friends? Was he still allowed to feel attached? He was away for so long… everyone moved on when he disappeared into the future… perhaps he didn’t have the right to worry anymore. Only friends had that luxury.

“I sent him a letter when I got to Haven, that day when we met at the Conclave,” Hawke said, watching him. “He told me you were alive but I didn’t believe him. So I just told him I saw you. Then he heard about the explosion and sent me a response, asking if you lived. I said you did but things were looking grim, and that he might want to come to Haven. I apologize if I overstepped my boundaries.”

“Wait, so… he was worried about me?” he asked, frowning.

Hawke frowned now, too, brows furrowing in confusion. “Of course. He’s never stopped worrying about you.”

“But… But I thought he didn’t…” he trailed off then, uncertain how to phrase such a thing. He’d been thinking about it for so long, wondering if he did the right thing by walking away and not returning, constantly wondering if he was wrong, and now Hawke told him Dorian might actually be coming to Haven simply because he said Callum was possibly dying.

“You thought he didn’t care,” Hawke said slowly.

Callum shrugged somewhat helplessly, looking away. “I just… It… It’s complicated. He doesn’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.”

“You were dying,” Hawke said like he didn’t understand the meaning of the word. He obviously didn’t, because he kept defying death. “I thought he would want to know. I don’t know what happened between you two, but he hasn’t stopped being your friend.”

That was… touching. A smile flitted briefly across his face before he sighed and shook his head, his hand throbbing again, reminding him of why he really came to the chantry.

“Cassandra is expecting me,” he said quietly. “Maybe I can see about getting rid of this green glow. It’s just not my color.”

Hawke smirked. “I wish you luck, then. And do not be surprised if Dorian appears.”

Callum scowled. “Why would he come all the way here just to see me?”

“You are oblivious,” Fenris sighed, speaking for the first time, and Callum couldn’t help but grin at him.

“Hello to you, too, grumpy,” he said to the elf.

Fenris scowled at him in return. He hadn’t been aware he’d actually missed that until now. What an odd thing to miss!

Feeling lighter than he had in days – and not because Fenris scowled at him – he turned on his heel and proceeded down the large hallway, toward the room at the end where he could hear voices. Accusatory voices speaking about him. The voice was familiar – the chancellor.

Good mood diminishing, he sighed and pushed open the door.

xXx

Trekking from Redcliffe to Haven during the midst of not only a war, but an outbreak of demons slipping from the Fade, was perhaps not the best idea nor the finest moment Dorian had, but he was not going to let that stop him.

He left Redcliffe yesterday morning and had walked all day and night, and now it was late evening. He would soon reach Haven. He just hoped he wasn’t too late. What would he do if he arrived only to be told it was too late and Callum died while Dorian wasted time looking for notes on Alexius’ plans?

He couldn’t have known Callum survived the Conclave and was in danger until the letter arrived, though, so he was traveling as fast as he could. He left as soon as he realized what the letter meant, Hawke’s hastily scribbled words. The only way he could have gotten there sooner was for him to have left after the Conclave was destroyed instead of listening to Felix and staying put.

He couldn’t blame Felix, though. Felix didn’t know Callum lived through it any more than Dorian himself did. He was attempting to figure out what his father was doing with the Venatori, which was a noble goal. Felix was not to blame. Only Dorian was, for he should have still traveled to Haven anyway, despite Felix’s wishes, even if at the time he thought he was only going there to mourn a friend.

Now it might be too late and he would merely be mourning anyway.

As if he hadn’t done enough of that in the past two years.

Seven months of waiting, and then a year after that.

_But if he’s alive…_

If Callum was alive…

He tried not to think about it. He tried not to hope, but that thin thread of longing spread through him anyway. He wanted Callum to live. He wanted to see the rogue again. He wanted to reconnect – he was ready now. He was ready to at least explain how he felt before, even if they weren’t friends anymore. After all, how could they still be friends if they hadn’t spoken in so long? If they left on bad terms?

None of this mattered if Callum was dead, though.

_Let him live._

He thought kept racing through his mind. He was not a man for praying, but nevertheless he hoped someone heard his wishes and took pity on him, on them. He needed to make things right with Callum. It had been weighing on him for so long – he just wanted to apologize, and admit what he couldn’t say before.

Even if it was to a corpse.

The thought left him grimacing.

_I will know soon enough whether or not he lives._

Dwelling on it wouldn’t help him right now.

As he pushed through a few trees, he spotted a frozen lake and beyond that, the small village of Haven. He smiled faintly at the sight, for he had finally reached his destination. Quickly he hurried down the path, along the edge of the frozen lake, and finally toward the gates leading into the village.

“Dorian?”

He spun at the sound of his name coming from a familiar voice and found Hawke watching him, a smirk playing on his thin lips as he beckoned Dorian over. Fenris sat behind him, sitting at a small fire surrounded by tents. Dorian smiled in return, approaching the two of them, relief flowing through him to see they were okay. Hawke said they were, as did Felix, but still – he’d been worried.

“Nice of you to join us,” Hawke said. “You and Fen here could have traveled together.”

Fenris scowled and poked his stick into the fire, stirring the flames, keeping the fire alive.

Dorian chuckled faintly and shook his head. “I came as soon as I could.”

Hawke was in a good mood, it seemed, so he hoped that was good news, but even so he hesitated before he could bring himself to ask the question which had been playing over and over in his mind ever since he left Redcliffe.

“Is he alive?”

Hawke smiled at him, and relieve ebbed through him once more. He relaxed, able to breathe properly, no longer so tense.

“He lives,” Hawke said. “He woke up earlier today, actually.”

Dorian’s eyes widened. “Oh. Did he?”

He hadn’t realized that had been in question. But then, if they were worried about him dying, it wasn’t a stretch to wonder if he would awaken, even if he lived. Sometimes the body sustained too much trauma, and from what he knew of Callum, he certainly attracted bad luck and trauma.

“Where is he?”

Hawke chuckled, smirking at him. “One tract mind, huh, Dorian?”

Dorian scowled even as he felt his face burn. If anyone asked he would blame it on the cold, or the fire, or the setting sun.

Hawke gestured across the way, toward a line of small cabins. “His is the first on the left,” the mage told him, clapping him on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

Dorian stared at the aforementioned cabin, swallowing thickly even as he nodded his gratitude and began moving toward the cabin. His steps felt heavy, a weight in the pit of his stomach, and he scowled as he glared at the door.

_It is merely a cabin, Dorian. You are not walking to your death; you are seeing Callum._

He took in a breath, and raised his hand to knock on the door, feeling a little silly for not only doing so, but for feeling like this. He hadn’t felt like this since he was turning into a teenager. Puberty hit Dorian hard, leaving him eager to get out from under his parents’ wing, and yet no matter what they seemed to have their claws in him. He found himself unconscious attempting to smother that light, fluttery feeling he associated with Callum. First with the dreams, then the waiting, and then the wondering and worrying and traveling and-

The door opened, revealing a figure standing there apprehensively. Dorian didn’t have to be inside to know a dagger was held behind the door, but as soon as those familiar copper-green eyes landed on him, they widened and he heard the dagger clatter to the ground as Callum stood there, staring at him.

Or maybe it was the other way around with Dorian staring at the rogue. Either way, staring.

“Dorian,” Callum breathed, and Dorian felt something in his chest loosen as that voice said his name. His friend’s voice. A friend he thought he would never see again. He hadn’t realized how worried he’d been on the way here, focusing too much on the journey rather than what would await him, but now that he stood there in front of those familiar eyes…

He smiled weakly. “Callum,” he said in response, hoping it didn’t sound as pathetic to Callum as it did to him.

Callum blinked at him, and then cracked a smile. “Hawke said you might be by.”

“So you’ve been talking about me,” Dorian said, blathering without meaning to. “Yes, well, I am very amazing, aren’t I? I mean, of course he mentioned me. And you talked about me. I mean. I’m going to stop talking now.”

_Dorian, what are you doing, you fool?_

Callum’s smile grew into a true one. Funny how he had forgotten what that looked like. “Ah, hello there, blush.”

Dorian scowled even as his face burned even more. “Yes, well, it is freezing out here. Won’t you ask me in?”

Callum blinked and then laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t know. You might melt on my floor. And then where would we be?”

The joking, the easy banter, was all familiar and Dorian hadn’t realized how much he had missed it until now. He tried joking with others, but never found it as satisfying or as easy as it was with Callum. It just came naturally. He smiled at the rogue as Callum stepped aside, allowing him entrance.

Dorian entered the small cabin, attempting to recollect his thoughts before facing Callum again as the rogue closed the door behind him. Callum faced Dorian as well, offering a faint smile.

“It’s been a long time,” he said softly.

Dorian nodded quickly. “Yes, it has. That is my fault. I’m sorry.”

“You… what?”

“I chased you off, and I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t chase me off,” Callum said, confusion evident in his voice and the furrow of his brows.

Dorian scowled. “Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m offended. I am especially dumb,” Callum said, smirking. “But really, Dorian, what are you talking about?”

Dorian sighed, shaking his head. Now that he was standing in front of Callum, and he knew the rogue was okay and would live, he wasn’t sure what to say now. He had no idea how to explain what happened, apologize for chasing him away… Even after all this time, all the wondering and ‘what-ifs’, he still had no idea what to say when it came to facing Callum.

He was the only person who could leave him speechless, he was certain.

“When I said I didn’t want to care,” he said slowly, “you misunderstood me.”

Callum frowned. “That was a year ago, Dorian.”

“Yes, well, us Vints have good memories.”

The rogue watched him carefully for a moment, the fireplace in the cabin casting odd orange shadows across the contours of his face.

He looked a little different. His hair was shorter than when they last spoke. It was still the same sandy color, though. He was still shorter than Dorian, though he doubted that would ever change unless Callum suddenly got a growth spurt. There was also the matter of green flickering briefly on his hand. Dorian frowned.

“What is that?”

Callum shrugged, placing the palm of his left hand flat against his thigh, lips thinning. “It’s nothing.”

“Callum.”

“You really don’t want to know. You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

“Try me,” he said.

Callum shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me.”

The rogue sighed and finally moved his palm away from his thigh. Dorian reached for his wrist, carefully pulling it away from his legs, twisting it in his grip so he could see the palm. Callum uncurled his fingers enough for Dorian to see the crackling green mark across his palm. He frowned, tracing a thumb over the edge of the mark, leaving Callum yanking his hand free.

“Sorry,” Dorian said, frown deepening. “Does it hurt?”

“Off and on,” Callum said dismissively, turning away from him.

“What is it?”

“Remnant of the Conclave, I guess.”

“You… You were there, then?”

_But they said everyone died…_

“Yes,” Callum sighed, shrugging. “I was there. I was the only one to survive, and I don’t know why. I woke up with _this_ , and… it’s just crazy.”

“Explain it to me,” Dorian said. “But first, might I sit somewhere? I’ve been traveling nonstop.”

Callum turned back to face him, nodding as he gestured into the second room, where a small bed rested. Dorian sat on the bed as Callum stood in front of him, frowning at him.

“You didn’t have to come here because of me, you know.”

Dorian scowled. “You are my friend. Hawke said you were dying. Why would I not come?”

Callum shrugged, watching him. “But… it’s good to see you.”

“Is it?”

“Of course.”

Dorian smiled. “It is good to see you as well, Callum.” He patted the bed next to him. “Sit. We have much to discuss, I’m sure.”

Callum frowned. “Um… are you sure? I don’t remember that going well last time.”

_Yes, I suppose I had that coming…_

“Sit, Callum,” Dorian said softly, smiling thinly.

Callum hesitated briefly, before he smiled and joined Dorian on the bed, sitting next to him.

“Start from the beginning,” Dorian said. “What were you doing at the Conclave?”


	22. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble is brewing as Callum and Dorian travel to Val Royeaux. Things get complicated when the subject turns to Redcliffe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am feeling better, and learned I will be alone tomorrow night so I will have plenty of time to write :) So that's good, and I finally caught up on my sleep. Also drew more today, so that was fun. Anyway - not too much happens in this chapter, sorry. There might be a wait for the next chapter as I wait to get to that point in the game, but we'll see how it goes. Thoughts?

Chapter Twenty-One: Trust

 

Haven was crowded, with more people arriving every day. Dorian spent the past two nights sleeping on Callum’s floor, declining to take the bed, and Callum never offered to share. A part of Dorian felt oddly hurt at that fact. He knew that even though they were talking again, sometimes things were still awkward, especially when it concerned getting closer, but at least it was a start.

So far they spent the days talking of what had happened in the year they’d been apart. Listening to Callum’s story, Dorian could see why the rogue was hesitant to tell it. It did sound crazy, but he knew it was all true. The mark on his hand was evidence enough. Even so, learning that a lot of people in Haven went from hating him for supposedly blowing up the Conclave and killing everyone, to calling him the Herald of Andraste.

He might have snickered at that. A little. Maybe.

On the third day, though, things changed.

Callum was gone when Dorian awoke. That meant the rogue had to step over him to leave, and Dorian was usually a light sleeper. He’d had to be when he was on his own, both in his hut and along the Storm Coast. Otherwise bandits or Templars, or even other mages, could attack him and catch him off guard.

Callum was always quiet, though.

Dorian yawned and got to his feet, stretching. Everything ached from lying on the floor for three nights now. Once upon a time he had been offered a bed and he’d declined, made excuses which led to a misunderstanding, and chased off a good friend. Now there was no such offer. Callum offered his bed to Dorian so he could sleep on the floor instead, but Dorian declined, and the rogue never mentioned sharing.

That stuck with him for some reason.

He quickly dressed in something light but warm, since it had been spitting snow all day yesterday. Today could be the same or could be worse. Dorian hated the snow. He hated the bright glow, the way it blinded him when he stepped outside. He hated how at night, it wasn’t even dark because of the snow covering the ground. He hated how wet it was, how cold, hated each individual snowflake.

Winter in Tevinter wasn’t nearly as bad as it was here, and he was never traveling through it.

_I was not made for this kind of weather._

But he’d survived for three years away from Tevinter – he would be fine.

He exited the cabin after lacing his boots, expecting to find Callum sitting at the fireplace across the way, where Fenris, Varric, and Hawke typically sat. Hawke and Fenris were there, but there was no sign of Callum. A frown worked its way onto his face, but perhaps Callum was getting breakfast. It was rather early, after all, the sun barely up.

_And it’s freezing, of course._

He hated the cold. So much.

“Morning, Dorian,” Hawke said cheerfully.

He liked cheerful Hawke much better than brooding Hawke. Hawke had a lot on his mind lately, what with the Inquisition officially started. He was supposed to be in charge of it, but had not officially been named Inquisitor yet. Dorian looked forward to the ceremony – there would be a party to celebrate, and perhaps a large fire which could melt the snow and he could actually get warm for a change.

“Hello,” he said amicably, inclining his head at the two of them. “Have you seen Callum?”

“He left this morning,” Fenris said, looking at the flames flickering.

“He… what?”

“He didn’t tell you?” Hawke asked, frowning.

A knot weighed heavily in Dorian’s stomach. He wasn’t sure what was worse – that Callum just left without telling him, or that he didn’t even mention anything. It felt like betrayal. Did Callum not trust him enough to tell him anything? Was he still under the impression that Dorian didn’t care? He thought that, after the past two days of talking and being close to one another, even after a year apart, would at least reveal to the rogue that he _did_ care, not just then but now as well.

Dorian was never very good at expression himself. Perhaps he was too subtle. Maybe he just needed to come out and say it, but that brought with it problems of its own. Everything was a mess. Why did things always have to be complicated?

“No,” he sighed, shaking his head. “He didn’t tell me anything. Where did he go?”

“He, Varric, and Cassandra traveled to Val Royeaux this morning. They should be back in about a week.”

_A week._

Dorian sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. “How long ago did they leave?”

“About an hour ago,” Hawke said.

_So I can catch them._

The question was – why would he want to? Why would he chase Callum down now when he hadn’t in the past? Had been unable to in the past, anyway. He was too late when he left that room at the inn to stop him, but now…

Letting Callum walk away again, even if he would be back in a week, didn’t seem right. Chasing him down seemed wrong, too. They were friends, tentatively, but just because he allowed Dorian to house with him for the time being did not mean that he trusted him, or wanted him along for the journey.

“We’re meeting them there,” Hawke said, smirking at him as he was knocked out of his thoughts.

Dorian frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I thought you might want to tag along, so we waited. They want me there, as the head of the Inquisition, after all.”

Dorian nodded, smiling faintly at the other mage. “I will go with you, if you are offering.”

Hawke smiled. “Of course, Dorian. I don’t know why he wouldn’t invite you. Maybe he thinks you’re tired after traveling here.”

Dorian shrugged, not wishing to think about it right now. He would ask Callum when he saw him. “When do we leave?”

xXx

It was late evening when they made camp. Callum wondered where Hawke was, and why he didn’t just leave with them, but perhaps he and Fenris wanted some time alone before they left. It was understandable, of course, considering Fenris only arrived just before Dorian.

Callum wasn’t sure what to think of the mage at this point. Once upon a time they were close, but then he felt like he was troubling Dorian. Even though Dorian waited seven months for him to return, he admitted he didn’t want to care about Callum. He didn’t like caring. Therefore Callum was an inconvenience, so it was best for him to leave. And so he had, and they hadn’t seen each other for a year. They’d spoken a lot since Dorian arrived at Haven, but Callum wasn’t sure what he wanted to happen.

So he didn’t invite Dorian on this trip to Val Royeaux. Their friendship was reformed, it seemed, but that did not mean he could take Dorian with him while he traveled, as he had in the past. Dorian traveled all the way to Haven without stopping, apparently, which could be quite tiresome. He needed the rest. Besides, Callum was the one with the mark on his hand; it was him they wanted to see, and Hawke, so there was no reason to drag Dorian along with him. He’d let the mage rest at Haven and if he was still there when Callum returned, they could talk more. Maybe find Dorian a more permanent place to stay in Haven, because he was probably tired of sleeping on Callum’s floor. He never accepted his offer of switching places, and after what happened last time he asked, he hadn’t mentioned sharing.

So imagine his surprise when, two hours after they set up camp, Hawke arrived with Fenris and Dorian in tow. He didn’t know what to say, so he nodded hello and gestured for them to be quiet, as Cassandra and Varric were sleeping. He’d decided to take first watch. Hawke and Fenris set up their sleeping area away from them, leaving Dorian and Callum alone by the fire.

“Sit,” Callum said when Dorian just stood there. He scooted over on the dead log on which he sat, and Dorian sat next to him.

“You didn’t tell me you were leaving.”

Callum shrugged. “I didn’t want to pressure you into coming with me.”

“Why would that pressure me?”

“I don’t know… it just felt like I shouldn’t. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

Dorian shook his head, sighing heavily. “You did nothing wrong, I suppose. I was merely confused as I thought we were getting along quite well.”

“What? We’re getting along fine,” Callum said, confused. “Why would you think…? Is something wrong?”

Maybe he was wrong, and they weren’t getting along well.

_What did I do now?_

Dorian frowned at him, the fire casting odd shadows across his face. “Do you not trust me?”

“What? Of course I trust you.”

“Then why did you not even mention this trip?”

“Dorian…”

“You stepped over me to leave, and didn’t tell me.”

_That’s why he’s mad?_

He was angry because Callum didn’t tell him he was leaving?

“I’m sorry. I thought you would be tired, and… and just because we’re talking and everything doesn’t mean I can just make you travel with me,” Callum said, looking away, fingers curling into the fabric of his light scout armor. He found he rather liked this armor, though not the color. It was comfortable, at least.

“I think we need to discuss things.”

“Such as?”

When Dorian remained silent, he finally sighed and glanced over at the mage to find soft brown eyes, aglow with an orange hue due to the fire, watching him carefully. He had forgotten about that look.

He remembered now how hard it had been, at first, being away from Dorian. Not only Dorian, but Emry as well. He hadn’t actually been on his own in a long time. But he often thought back on Dorian – hurt on the ground then miraculously up and fighting. He thought of the relief he felt upon seeing Dorian up and moving, no longer dying on the ground. He thought of the look in the mage’s eyes when he was angry, or determined, or laughing.

In truth time away from Dorian let him realize how much he enjoyed Dorian’s company, and now that the mage was back, he realized how unhappy he’d been this past year while traveling alone. He realized how much he missed not only companionship, but specifically Dorian’s company.

He would admit he was a touch clingy to people. Once he got attached, that was it. He blamed it on the fact he lost his entire family in one night as a child, and if he got to the point where he trusted someone, that was it – there was no changing it. And he trusted Dorian, and was attached to him. He thought it would get easier the longer they were apart, but now, with Dorian’s presence at his side again, he could admit he was wrong.

“You misunderstood me a year ago,” Dorian said quietly, breaking him from his thoughts.

He frowned at the mage. “Dorian, that was a year ago. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” Dorian said, shaking his head. “When I said I didn’t want to care… I didn’t mean that it needed to change. I didn’t mean you had to leave, I just…”

“Dorian, we don’t have to do this.”

_I don’t want to do this._

This was not a conversation he wanted to have. He didn’t want to hear how he was wrong for leaving. He did not want to hear that Dorian didn’t want to care about him. He didn’t want to hear a lot of things.

“I think we do,” Dorian said. “We need to clear the air. I want you to trust me.”

“I _do_ trust you. It was never about trust, Dorian.”

“Then what is it about?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

“Perhaps… we should start over.”

“Oh?”

Dorian turned to face Callum completely. Indecision crossed his face hesitantly. “I never wanted you to leave.”

Callum swallowed thickly, attempting to ignore the twisting in his gut at Dorian’s words, as well as that soft tone of his voice. “Then I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize – it was my fault.”

“It wasn’t. I just… misunderstood, remember?”

Dorian smiled faintly. Callum preferred it to the downtrodden expression. “I want us to be friends, at least.”

“We are friends,” Callum said, and then frowned. “What do you mean, ‘at least’?”

Dorian’s cheeks turned red. Callum smirked; he had to admit he enjoyed seeing that expression on the mage’s face. He liked seeing him blush. It was cute.

_Cute…_

“Nothing. I was just… I mean…”

Seeing Dorian flustered was amusing, leaving him chuckling quietly as he watched the mage.

“Perhaps you should say what you mean, Dorian,” he said.

The blush darkened.

“Hello, blush.”

Dorian scowled even as a hand came up to hide his cheek, leaving the other one bare, though. “Hush, you. I am not blushing.”

“Then you must be sick – your face is a tomato.”

“I am just cold.”

“You’re right next to the fire.”

The scowl deepened. “Do not leave me behind again.”

Callum blinked at his words, smile disappearing. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I won’t.”

“If you go somewhere, tell me.”

“Okay.”

“Are we good?”

Callum nodded, smiling faintly. “Yes, Dorian. We’re good.”

Dorian nodded, gaze lingering on him a moment longer before the mage looked toward the fire.

xXx

Val Royeaux was somewhere Dorian had personally never been before, but he’d heard of it. The capital of Orlais. He wasn’t very fond of Orlais, or Orlaisians. They were all a little too snooty for his taste.

They had people like that in Tevinter, though. He couldn’t just throw everyone into one group. Still, he preferred Fereldan.

He couldn’t believe what he saw, though – sisters from the chantry standing in the courtyard, accusing the Inquisition of harboring a murderer and a heretic, Callum. He wasn’t sure if his anger stemmed from their accusations or the fact Callum didn’t defend himself. The rogue merely waited for their angry words to pass, and by then the Templars had downed the lead sister, stated Val Royeaux was not worthy of their protection, and had walked away despite Cassandra’s efforts at stopping them.

Dorian wasn’t sure what happened since it all happened so fast. He stared after the disappearing backs of the men and then looked to find Callum kneeling next to the lead sister, who was sitting up and rubbing at her head. Soft words were spoken and in the end she offered him a vague smile, so he hoped things were mended.

After speaking with her, Callum returned to Dorian’s side, shaking his head as he glanced at Hawke. “Maybe you can have better luck with her,” he said. “She won’t help us.”

Hawke nodded and walked toward the sisters, followed closely by Cassandra, Varric, and Fenris, leaving the two of them alone.

“Why did you not defend yourself when they were accusing you?” Dorian couldn’t help but ask.

Callum shrugged. “They’re scared and blaming people. It’s human nature.”

“Yes, but they were blaming you.”

“Well… they’re not entirely wrong.”

Dorian’s eyes narrowed as the beginnings of anger stirred within him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, they don’t think I’m the Herald of Andraste. _I_ don’t think I’m the Herald of Andraste. We’re kind of the same.”

Dorian sighed and shook his head. “So they won’t help us because they do not like you?”

Callum shrugged, looking at the ground helplessly. “I guess. I told Cassandra I could leave, but she said that wasn’t an option.”

Dorian frowned a the tone of his voice. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing, I just… I just realized I’m still a prisoner. My cage is just much nicer.”

“Prisoner,” Dorian repeated. “I still cannot believe they think you were responsible for the Conclave.”

“I know. But, I mean, from their perspective… I mean, if the shoe fits…”

“You are not a murderer.”

Callum smiled, but it was thin. “I do kill people for a living.”

“Only those who deserve it,” Dorian said, scowling at the rogue for thinking otherwise. Did Callum have these thoughts the whole time? If so, why was he just now hearing about them? “You are not a bad person. Those who think so are sorely mistaken.”

The rogue shrugged, looking away. “Yes, well… I mean, who else can they blame? I _am_ the only one to survive, and I came out with a green mark on my hand capable of closing rifts. I mean – if you didn’t know me, wouldn’t you think I at least had something to do with it?”

Dorian begrudgingly admitted to himself that, yes, he would possibly think Callum was the culprit, given all that evidence, if he didn’t personally know the rogue. But he did know Callum – used to know him quite well and wanted to get to know him again – and so he could only shake his head. “You are not responsible. And I do know you. Or… at least, I used to.” He took in a slow breath, catching Callum’s eye as the rogue looked at him again. “And I would like to get to know you again.”

Every time he tried to admit such a thing as caring about Callum, he felt his face burn, and he got this strange lump in his throat which he struggled to swallow around. He hated feeling like this, but at the same time, the alternative was worse. It was better to be embarrassed around Callum than to be without him.

_Where did that come from, Dorian?_

He didn’t know where the thought came from, but there it was all the same.

He still cared about Callum – had never stopped caring – and telling himself otherwise was only him lying to himself. If caring meant he had to feel like this, then so be it.

This wasn’t Tevinter, and his parents were not around. He was allowed to care about someone other than himself, other than his family’s legacy. It was okay to be himself; Callum had never judged him. He probably wouldn’t judge him if Dorian told him everything, either – about his parents, his life in Tevinter, the dreams he had about the rogue…

He _probably_ wouldn’t mind.

But it was that small chance it might ruin everything…

That kept Dorian quiet about his true thoughts.

Callum smiled at him, a true, warm smile this time, leaving something fluttering in Dorian’s stomach. “I’d like that, too, Dorian.”

“Like what?”

Callum eyed him strangely and Dorian mentally cursed himself for losing his train of thought and losing track of the conversation. “Getting to know me again. I’d like to get to know you again, too.”

Dorian smiled weakly. “Yes, well… perhaps we should…” He gestured behind Callum, where Hawke and the others were approaching, having finally finished speaking with the sisters.

“They won’t help us,” Hawke said, shaking his head as Callum looked at him.

“A wasted trip, then,” Callum sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I still think they’d be happier to talk to you if I was not here.”

“That is not an option,” Cassandra said. “Your mark is our only way to close the rifts.”

Callum nodded even as he looked away. Dorian watched him carefully, noting the muscle twitching in his jaw.

“Back to Haven, then,” Varric said. “Good – and here I thought we might actually make progress here.” He shot a smile at Dorian.

Dorian scoffed and shook his head. He didn’t know what to think about the dwarf; he had a twisted sense of humor leaving Dorian uncertain as to when he was joking and when he was serious.

“Back to Haven,” Cassandra agreed.

As the group turned to leave, however, there was the sound of an arrow hissing through the air. Dorian heard the thud of it hitting the ground and looked around anyway, seeing if anyone was hurt, gaze lingering momentarily on Callum as the rogue looked around as well, noticing the arrow stabbing from the ground.

He knelt next to the arrow and pulled free the note attached to it.

After reading it once he sighed and looked at Hawke as he handed the note to him. Dorian frowned as the rogue looked at him.

“Looks like we’re not leaving yet.”

“What is it?”

“Something about Red Jenny.”

Dorian frowned, the name unfamiliar.

“I’ve heard of them,” Varric said. “A group of ‘little people’ – and no, I don’t mean dwarves – working together to take down bigger people. And I don’t mean qunari.”

Dorian shook his head even as Callum chuckled.

“We’ll handle this,” Hawke said, looking at Callum. “If you want to get a head start back to Haven.”

Dorian felt relieved they would not have to linger here even as he mentally groaned at the thought of traveling again so soon after arriving. They weren’t even here an hour. Callum, however, smiled at Hawke and nodded in agreement even as the other mage winked at him and turned to lead Fenris and Varric away. Cassandra remained at Callum’s side, nodding for him to begin leading the way.

Callum hesitated only slightly before he took the lead and began heading toward the city’s exit.

A figure stepped out of area near the exit, blocking Callum’s path. Dorian readied his staff, still feeling strange for being allowed to carry it with him in a city, but as he was part of the Inquisition at the moment, he was allowed to be himself for the time being.

Callum looked startled at the female elf’s sudden appearance, but then smiled at her once it was revealed who she was.

_First Enchanter Fiona._

Dorian hung back, feeling awkward. Things were so much different in Tevinter. No mage felt the need to have to hide in shadowy conclaves so as not to be seen. Cassandra and Callum spoke to her very briefly, and Dorian approached them only when Fiona mentioned Redcliffe.

By that point she was walking away, and he turned to face Callum.

“Recliffe?” he asked with a frown.

Callum nodded slowly. “She will meet us at Redcliffe to discuss joining the Inquisition.”

“That’s good,” Dorian said. “Right?”

“Yes – it is great,” Cassandra said with a small smile. She didn’t smile often, so it was nice to see.

“First thing’s first – we need to get back to Haven,” Callum said.

Dorian nodded. “Lead the way.”

xXx

The trip back to Haven was simple, and they were back in merely four days instead of the week Hawke said earlier. Hawke, Fenris and Varric still weren’t back but Callum figured they were figuring out what the ‘Red Jenny’ thing meant. He was happy they chose to work on it instead of leaving him to do it.

He wasn’t in charge of this place and yet he kept having to lead the way and make decisions. It was all very frustrating. He was forced to be in charge of tough choices which could save people’s lives or leave them dead, and he wasn’t allowed to leave. A prisoner. A prisoner in a gilded cage.

The only bright side was he wasn’t alone.

After his meeting with Cullen, Leliana and Cassandra in the war room, he returned to his cabin to find Dorian waiting for him with a book in his hands, quietly reading on Callum’s bed. He smiled at the sight and closed the door behind him, leaving Dorian’s head snapping up and a warm smile spreading across the mage’s face as he closed the book.

“Welcome back,” Dorian said as he put the book down next to him, patting his other side. “How was your meeting in the war room? Is it strange you have a war room? Do you Fereldan types just always assume there will be a war so you create such a room?”

Callum smirked, shaking his head. “I don’t know why they have such a room, no. But things went well, I guess. Have to go to the Hinterlands now.”

“Whatever for?” Dorian asked, frowning.

“Recliffe,” he said. “To meet Fiona.”

Dorian shifted somewhat on the bed. Callum frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I… was just in Recliffe not long ago, actually.”

“Oh? I… realize I haven’t asked where you’ve been.”

That was wrong of him. Here they were, talking about Callum all the time and where he’d been this past year, but he was a terrible friend for not returning the favor.

Dorian shook his head. “A friend of mine… from Tevinter. He asked me to help him investigate his father, Gereon Alexius, and his ties to a cult called the Venatori.”

Callum frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me? Who are the Venatori?”

“Tevinter mages,” Dorian sighed, looking away. “Alexius, he… he’s the… He used to be my mentor, back in Tevinter. We…” He swallowed and closed his eyes, head bowing somewhat. “You are going to hate me.”

Callum shook his head, stepping closer to the bed and Dorian with his downtrodden expression. “Why would you think that? I would never hate you.”

Dorian shook his head. “You don’t know what I did. Or, I guess… what I will do.”

“What are you talking about, Dorian?”

Dorian looked up at him carefully. He looked so sullen Callum fought the urge to hug him and assure him it was okay, whatever he thought he did. Dorian patted the bed next to him. “Perhaps you should sit.”

“That bad, huh?” Callum asked quietly, even as he moved to sit next to Dorian.

Dorian looked away from him, focusing on the ground. “The mage who killed your family… he used time travel.”

“Yes,” Callum said slowly, a knot forming in his stomach. “What does that have to do with…?”

“Apparently, Alexius created this amulet,” Dorian said. “In Tevinter… he and I theorized about such a thing but could never get it to work.”

The room felt cold suddenly.

“You.. You mean you…?”

“I helped create the time amulet,” Dorian said with a nod. “I am responsible for the death of your family.”

Callum stared at him, sucking in a sharp breath, but Dorian refused to look at him. All the little doubts Callum once had about his family, about Dorian knowing the blood mage, they all came flying back with a vengeance, and he quickly pushed to his feet, stepping away from the bed, his back to Dorian.

_He helped create the time amulet. He knows Alexius who is part of a cult. Maybe he even knew the blood mage._

_No… this is Dorian. Your friend._

He was so confused. He felt betrayed that Dorian would be a part of the time amulet, and that he was only telling him now. But then he felt guilty for thinking Dorian might be the enemy. Dorian was his friend. He would never do anything to hurt Callum. If so, why wait seven months for him to show up, and then take him to Recliffe to save his life?

_I’m so confused…_

“Callum?”

He stiffened at the sound of Dorian’s voice and heard the mage sigh.

“You hate me,” Dorian breathed, “don’t you?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, his back still to Dorian. “I don’t hate you. I never could. I just… this is a lot to take in, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you sooner, but… I didn’t know how to bring it up without you hating me.”

He sighed heavily and turned to face the mage. Dorian’s gaze snapped toward his face, a muscle twitching in the mage’s jaw as he did so. “I don’t hate you, Dorian. I just… I’m surprised, that’s all. I don’t hate you. It’s not your fault. This person came back from the future, right? So this amulet doesn’t even exist yet.”

Dorian hesitated, looking away. “Actually… it does.”

Callum narrowed his eyes, approaching the mage to stand in front of him as Dorian looked back up at him. “Tell me everything.”


	23. A Good Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions rising with the upcoming trip to Redcliffe, Dorian decides the group needs to relieve some tension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay. I don't think I can update again until I get to that point in the game, which will take a while as I have no been in a gaming mood, and that will take a few hours as, in the game, I have only just gotten to Haven and been declared Herald of Andraste. So... yep, might be a while, I'm sorry! Anyway - hope this chapter will hold you over. Thoughts?
> 
> OH ALSO I have been drawing Dorian and Callum, but I don't know how to post them here? Can anyone tell me what I have to do, because I'm an idiot and can't figure it out?

Chapter Twenty-Two: A Good Day

 

_He hates me._

Dorian watched Callum speaking with Hawke, who had arrived only just this morning, with Varric, Fenris, and a light-haired, female elf Dorian had yet to actually meet. She scurried off to the tavern and he hadn’t seen her since. Dorian didn’t care about her at the moment, though, only the new distance between him and the rogue. Callum still spoke to him, and said he wasn’t angry with Dorian for working with Alexius to create the time amulet, but was a little upset Dorian was only now telling him. That was a day ago.

The two had barely spoken since then.

Dorian sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. No matter what, he just seemed to mess things up with Callum. Not telling Callum about his time in Redcliffe, before they traveled to Redcliffe, would only lead to disaster if they spoke to Felix. But telling Callum had caused another divide between them, and he would admit he hated this distance.

He cared about Callum like he hadn’t cared about anyone else before. Be it friendship, attraction, something else – he had no idea, but he cared and he hated this distance. He hated being so close and yet so far, sleeping on his floor still, but barely speaking.

Callum chuckled at something Hawke said, looking lighter than he had since Dorian told him about his involvement with the time amulet and his time in Redcliffe before he traveled to Haven. Something flared with Dorian, hot and heavy in his stomach as he watched the two of them speaking so freely, so amicably. Ever since he told Callum about Redcliffe, the rogue had seemed tense, posture rigid and straight, but now he relaxed when he thought Dorian was’t looking.

Dorian shook his head, turning away from the scene to head back inside Callum’s cabin. He would need to find his own cabin soon. He liked staying with Callum, even as he got the cold shoulder, but sleeping on the floor left him waking with a bad back every morning. Accepting Callum’s bed while the rogue slept on the floor was not an option, and Callum never offered to share.

That still got to him, somehow. He hated that he had ruined that trust. Once upon a time they slept next to each other, and it was fine. Then one day Dorian refused and things escalated, and a year passed before he had a chance to make anything right. And now that he was here…

It still felt like they were so far apart, and he hated it. Hated it deep down to his very core. Somehow that idiot rogue got under his skin and crawled into his heart, and Dorian would not let him simply walk away, figuratively or literally.

He had to make things right before they left for Redcliffe.

“Change of plans,” came Callum’s voice from behind him.

Dorian spun around as the door closed behind the rogue. “What do you mean?”

“Well, the invitation was for the leader of the Inquisition, which is not me,” Callum said, shrugging. “So I don’t have to go to Redcliffe. Hawke does. He’s not happy about it but I’m happy I get to be lazy and sleep.”

Dorian couldn’t fight the smile spreading across his face. “That is good news,” he said with a nod. “What about the mark on your hand, though? Do you think that might be needed?”

Callum stopped, expression falling. “Crap. I didn’t think about that. I really don’t want to go to Redcliffe.”

“I know you don’t,” Dorian said sympathetically.

“So your friend, Felix,” Callum said, and Dorian snapped his mouth shut, carefully watching the rogue as his friend paced the length of the small opening room. “Is he in danger?”

“He’s dying,” Dorian said quietly.

Callum’s brows furrowed. “I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up anything. I just… I mean right now, what do you think is happening in Redcliffe with the Venatori?”

Dorian shrugged, looking away. “In truth, I don’t know. I left when…”

“I know,” Callum said softly. “I’m sorry. You didn’t have to come.”

“I thought you were dying,” Dorian said, even though he’d already had this conversation with Callum. He looked up from the ground to narrow his eyes at the rogue, who shifted from foot to foot under his gaze. “Yes, it was worth it. No, I don’t regret it.”

Callum shrugged slightly. “I appreciate it, Dorian.”

Dorian offered a faint smile. “Yes, well – one of us has to be amazing, right?”

That earned him a brief chuckle.

Once upon a time Callum laughed a lot. Dorian had never thought that would stop, so he hadn’t realized how much he would miss it.

He missed those easy smiles and loud laughter.

Now Callum was mostly quiet, trying to stifle whatever chuckles Dorian could get out of him. He had a reason to be, of course, what with the pain Dorian knew he had to be in because of his hand, and all his new responsibilities weighing down on him. He also still thought he was a prisoner in a gilded cage. That would make anyone quiet and pensive, but to see it happen to Callum…

“Come with me,” Dorian found himself saying, nearly startling himself at the words.

Callum’s head snapped up as he frowned at Dorian. “Where are we going?”

Dorian shook his head, reaching for Callum’s wrist, pulling him easily toward the door. “You will see, my friend.”

He nearly laughed at the idea forming in his mind. He hoped it would work, and allow Callum the respite he seemed to desperately need.

xXx

Callum stared as Dorian began to carefully create a snow drift using his magic, more snow falling form the sky to aid him in his efforts. He quirked a brow at the mage who seemed rather determined.

“Um… what are you doing?” he asked, watching him carefully, staring at the way Dorian’s tongue poked ever-so-slightly out of his mouth as he concentrated. “I thought you hated the snow – why are you making me?”

The scowl Dorian tossed him was irritated. “You need to loosen up.”

_Well… that’s true, I guess._

“And more snow will help me?” he asked, chuckling at Dorian’s logic.

Dorian shook his head, finished with his snow drift. “I have told Commander Cullen to meet us here, along with Hawke, Fenris, and Varric.”

“Ah, so that’s where you disappeared to.”

After dragging him out here, Dorian disappeared for a few minutes before returning. Callum had been told to stay put and so he had done so even as he wondered what Dorian was up to, and where he went.

“What are we doing here?” Callum asked.

He needed to be worrying about the mark on his hand, the rifts, and Hawke’s upcoming trip to Redcliffe, which he was happy he didn’t have to be a part of, despite how bad that sounded. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he had to go – if he would take Dorian with him or not. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Dorian, it was just… things were complicated at the moment, and he wondered if dragging Dorian with him would only make matters worse. Somehow, he thought leaving him behind was a bad idea as well, and thus he was stuck attempting to figure out what to do.

Thankfully it didn’t matter because he didn’t have to go to Redcliffe. Hawke did, as the Inquisitor. That was one position Callum was happy to not have ascribed to him. Still, being the Herald of Andraste was bad enough. He felt blasphemous every time he heard someone call him that. His family had been very religious, with the chantry and the order, and he wondered what his parents would think if they could see him now.

_But they can’t. So it doesn’t matter._

“It will do you no good to travel if you are too tense,” Dorian told him. “And you are not the only one who is uneasy.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Callum said, smirking at the way Dorian kept trying to delay the inevitable. Why would he not just tell him what they were doing out here?

Dorian sighed, suddenly looking uncertain as his gaze focused on his snow drift instead of Callum. Callum frowned at the sudden change, feeling his smirk die away.

“Dorian?”

“I wanted to help.”

“Help?” Callum repeated, frowning.

“I know I have made you… _uncertain_ about me, and you already had weight on your shoulders with the mark you now wear, and… I just thought this might help.”

“I’m not _uncertain_ about you,” Callum said, shaking his head as he sighed heavily. “I apologize if I have made you feel that way, as it was not my intention. Anyway – what is _this_ , exactly, that you think will help?”

It was sweet of Dorian to notice the pressure he was under, as well, and considerate that he wanted to help. Dorian was a good friend, no matter how many doubts Callum might have about his involvement with the time amulet. He knew he couldn’t blame Dorian for it, but on some level the betrayal was still there, especially when Dorian only told him now that Callum might found out about such a thing in Redcliffe. But this was not Dorian’s fault; as he said, he thought it would upset Callum and as they were only now being able to really talk to each other as friends, since the year apart from each other, Callum could understand how reluctant Dorian was to upset him as their friendship was reforming.

_I am not angry with Dorian. I am merely… something. The fault is mine, not his._

Ever since telling him about the time amulet and his involvement in it, and his time spent in Redcliffe, Dorian had been attempting to make up for whatever he did. He thought Callum was angry with him, and had been on his best behavior. Callum was not angry, and if he was, it wasn’t at Dorian.

Truthfully he was too tired to be angry about anything.

This mark on his hand left him waking at all hours of the night as it would suddenly flare and send pain shooting through him. He also had to worry about the fact he was the only one who could close the rifts, and thus he could not leave the Inquisition no matter how much he might want to. Like Hawke, he was tied to it now in ways he was only beginning to understand. He was happy to help Hawke shoulder the burden, but was not prepared for all that came with this mark.

The Herald of Andraste. He was not prepared for that.

“Callum?”

Callum blinked. “Sorry, I spaced out,” he said apologetically. “You were saying?”

Dorian eyed him for a moment, before he sighed, shoulders drooping. “I thought you could use a bit of fun to take your mind off things.”

“Fun?” Callum repeated, surprisingly unfamiliar with the word, it had been so long since he actually had fun. The word felt foreign on his tongue.

Dorian shrugged, looking helpless for a moment as he focused on the ground. “You have been preoccupied lately. It is understandable, but everyone needs something else to focus on, once in a while.”

“So this is…?”

He got his answer when something slammed into the back of his neck, leaving iciness coating his skin as he stiffened and spun all in one movement. Varric stood behind him holding another snowball, looking quite pleased with himself. Callum’s gaze turned to Hawke, who stood next to Varric, reaching down to make his own snowball.

“Snowballs? Really?” he asked, looking at Dorian.

Dorian’s face reddened. “I thought it might help.”

Callum laughed. “You thought I was tense, so you orchestrated a snowball fight.”

“Yes, something like that.”

“You’re awesome.”

Dorian’s blush darkened and he looked away. “Yes, well, that goes without saying.”

Callum chuckled even as he reached down to collect his own bit of snow. A second later snowballs were soaring through the air and he and Dorian were hunkered down behind the snow drift Dorian had created.

Things escalated when Cullen joined them, demanding to know what was happening only to promptly get a snowball to the face. Callum wasn’t sure whose snowball it was – his or Hawke’s – but it landed square on his nose either way, leaving the commander spluttering, eyes wide. Then his eyes narrowed and he collected his own ammunition, flinging them at his new enemies.

Callum slid back down into his cover right before snow could smack him in the face, and glanced over at Dorian to find the mage watching him with this soft smile on his face and warm look in his eyes.

Once he noticed Callum watching him, though, he quickly reddened and flung his snowball across the battlefield.

“Thank you for this,” Callum said quietly.

Then he found himself reaching for the same pile of snow as Dorian, their fingers brushing momentarily. Callum hissed, yanking his hand away as the brief contact left pain flaring through his hand and into his wrist, since it was his left hand which had been touched. Dorian quickly pulled away, frowning at him as snowballs flew above their heads.

“It still hurts?” the mage asked.

“Off and on,” Callum said. “It just… flares up sometimes. It’s no big deal. Now – if we take out Hawke and Fenris, they’ll not be able to beat us.”

Dorian hesitated, and then smiled determinedly. “We will defeat them.”

xXx

_It was a good day._

Indeed, it was. Dorian was exhausted as he and Callum walked, soaked through their clothes, back to their shared cabin. It was surprisingly chilly when one was wet, soaked with melted snow of all things, and the irony of that was not lost on Dorian. But it was worth it, as they had a nice time.

Just before they entered the cabin, though, Cassandra approached them, jogging to catch up to them. Dorian must have been tired because he nearly chuckled at how she moved in all that armor, her shield strapped to her back and sword clattering at her side.

“I am glad I caught you,” she said to Callum. “I am afraid there has been another change of plans.”

Callum shared a look with Dorian before he frowned and looked back at Cassandra. “Go on,” he said quietly.

“There have been mentions of rifts in the Hinterlands,” she said somewhat apologetically, “and as you are our only means of dealing with them…”

“Then I have to go to Redcliffe after all,” Callum said somewhat sourly, shoulders drooping. In that moment Dorian wished to hug him or comfort him in some way. He fought down the urge which surged from nowhere.

“I am sorry,” Cassandra said, and she did sound sincere. “We leave tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Callum said, sighing heavily. “I guess I’ll pack.”

“Who do you wish to take with you?”

Dorian looked away when Callum hesitated. He knew he would not be chosen, even if he had a connection to that place they did not know about. Unless Callum had told everyone, which he doubted. Things were still a little tense between the two of them even though Callum assured him he was not angry and did not, in fact, hate him.

He entered the cabin while he waited for Callum to finish speaking with Cassandra.

Tomorrow they would leave for Redcliffe, and Dorian would remain here, waiting. Always waiting. He doubted Callum would want him along, and that thought stung more than it should have.

Callum pushed open the door to the cabin a moment later, closing it behind him after he’d entered. Dorian shivered and kicked off his boots. Callum immediately rid himself of his shirt and Dorian couldn’t help but stare for a moment, as he had never really seen Callum shirtless save for when he was hurt, but when that happened Dorian wasn’t focused on his skin but on a wound. Now he was free to watch as Callum quickly tore off his pants as well, shivering as he walked toward the bedroom area in search of drier clothes, clad now only in his underpants.

Dorian watched him walk away, mentally cursing himself for doing so but unable to look away. He would admit he was feeling warmer deep in his belly and lower. Scowling he forced himself to look away as Callum disappeared around a corner. Dorian looked up at the ceiling for a moment, sighing heavily as he mentally counted to ten and willed the image of Callum’s nearly naked body out of his mind, before he managed to finally extract himself from his own soaking wet clothes, reaching for a spare pair Callum had given him.

Callum was a lot smaller than Dorian, so much of Callum’s clothes were big on him and fit Dorian nicely. Callum didn’t seem to mind, though it was a shame that his baggy clothes didn’t fit his body correctly, so none of those curves and contours and muscles he just saw were ever shown.

_Dorian, please, control yourself. That is your friend._

He took in a slow breath and finally managed to get dressed just as Callum entered the room to toss more wood into the small fireplace the cabin had along the side wall. The room brightened, warmth spilling over Dorian as he sighed appreciatively, finally pulling his clean, dry shirt over his head. It was too cold to sleep in only one’s small clothes here, even with the fire.

Callum was watching him when Dorian focused on him. The rogue smiled. “I never knew you were so muscled. For a mage.”

Dorian’s face burned. He blamed it on the fire. And the fact he was just soaked and was probably catching a cold. “The things you say.”

Callum chuckled, smirking at him. “It’s a compliment, you idiot.”

Dorian scowled. “Then thank you.”

Callum shrugged, expression softening. “Thank you for today, Dorian,” he said quietly, and Dorian liked that sound of his voice.

He smiled. “Think nothing of it, my friend. I feel we all needed an outlet.”

“Yes, but, still,” Callum said. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

Callum looked away then, clearly hesitating. Dorian took in a breath, steeling himself for whatever his next words might be. “I wasn’t going to ask you to come to Redcliffe,” the rogue said softly.

Dorian looked away, too, focusing on the fire. “I understand.”

_You don’t trust me. That is fine._

It was okay; it had to be, because it was his fault. He should have told Callum sooner instead of ignoring it. He helped create the time amulet, which was used in the future by that mage who killed Callum’s family.

In a way, Dorian was responsible for Callum’s loss.

“No, Dorian,” Callum sighed. “No – it’s not… I mean… Let me start over.”

Dorian nodded, still focusing on the fire as it crackled and popped, eating away at the wood.

“I didn’t want to force you to come to Redcliffe with me,” Callum said. “But if you _want_ to come with me – then you’re free to do so.”

Dorian frowned, uncertain as to if he heard Callum correctly. Slowly he slid his gaze back toward the rogue to find copper-green eyes carefully watching him. “You… wish for me to accompany you?”

Callum shrugged. “You’re my friend, Dorian. I know… I know things have been rough between us, but I want that to stop. I don’t like this distance.”

“Nor do I,” Dorian said truthfully, smiling faintly. Callum returned his smile and something eased in Dorian’s stomach.

“So if you want to come with me to Redcliffe… I won’t stop you. Felix is your friend and he is still there, yes?”

“I believe so,” Dorian said, frowning. “You want me to come so I may speak to Felix?”

“He’s your friend; I thought you might want to see him.”

Dorian shrugged, uncertain as to why something felt off. “So that is why you want me along.”

_Not because you’re not angry with me anymore._

Callum frowned. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“Yes, it is fine,” Dorian sighed, shaking his head.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, Callum. I will join you, if that is your wish.”

“You are free to join me,” Callum said somewhat uncertainly, frowning at him. “We leave early in the morning.”

Dorian nodded. “Then perhaps we should sleep.”

“Yes… I guess we should.”

The two stood there uncertainly for a moment. Dorian took in a slow breath, pulse racing somewhat as he chanced a quick glance at Callum. “I grow tired of the floor.”

“Oh,” Callum said, blinking at him. “Right, I’m sorry. I’m a terrible friend. You can take the bed.”

Dorian swallowed. “Since we both must travel tomorrow, I feel we should both get a good night’s sleep, and I am sorry but your floor is not very comfortable.”

“What… What are you saying?”

_Please don’t let me be ruining things._

He sucked in a breath, pushing the words out of his mouth. “I think it would be best if we shared the bed. Tonight, anyway.”

Callum was silent for a long moment, simply watching him with this puzzled frown, and Dorian was certain he ruined things. Callum would shake his head and claim the bed, or kick Dorian out. Somehow, though, continuing to sleep on the floor did not seem right, nor did making Callum take the floor, and they were supposed to be friends. Friends shared beds occasionally, when there was only one bed.

Plus he was tired of this distance between them. He meant what he said earlier.

Finally Callum smiled tiredly. “I think you’re right,” he said, nodding toward the bedroom area. “Let’s get to bed, then.”

Dorian could only stand there and stare after Callum as the rogue left the room, heading toward the bed. Taking in a slow breath, unable to believe Callum agreed to this, he followed the rogue to find him already crawling under the covers, taking the side nearest the wall.

Dorian sat somewhat stiffly on the bed, feeling his pulse race a little further. He willed himself to stop behaving like this, like some teenage boy going through puberty. He was an adult and he was merely sleeping next to someone, nothing else. It was all very innocent.

Finally he, too, slid under the covers, laying down.

“I promise not to kick you out of bed,” Callum said.

Dorian smiled faintly. “I will try not to bruise your ribs with my knee.”

“How kind of you.”

The two chuckled quietly.

“Night, Dorian,” Callum said breathily into his ear, sounding already half asleep.

Dorian sucked in a breath and nodded, keeping his gaze focused up at the ceiling as the fire crackled and popped in the other room. The fire wasn’t very high and there were precautions so it wouldn’t grow and consume the cabin, so he didn’t really have to worry about that.

No, he had to worry about the fact he would be sleeping next to his friend, whom he already had dreams about sometimes.

_Perhaps this was not the best idea…_

It was too late to change his mind now, though.

And it had been such a long time since the two of them were this close… he could not ruin it now.

“Night,” he echoed, though by the sound of Callum’s quiet breathing, the rogue was already asleep.

Dorian looked over at him, noticing how peaceful he looked like this. He hadn’t realized how troubled he appeared during the day until all those lines disappeared as he slept soundly in the bed next to Dorian.

How could he have ever thought this was a bad idea?

He smiled faintly and finally closed his eyes, feeling more content than he had in days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't forget to let me know how to post pictures if you can help me! Thank you!


	24. Trouble in Redcliffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke checks out Redcliffe while Callum closes some rifts in the Hinterlands. Things are not well, though, as a note from Felix and a request from Alexius complicates matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm toying with the timeline. I know I've skipped over a few key scenes like meeting Mother Giselle and everything, but oh well xD We can just say the soldiers dealt with it, or other agents. Anyway, sorry for the slight delay - had to get to Redcliffe in the game and everything. I have made it to Redcliffe but I will need to play further for the next chapter, maybe, I haven't decided yet. We'll see how it goes :) Thoughts?
> 
> Also - I still don't know how to post pictures onto this site, no one will help me. I asked my friend who is also on this site, but she doesn't remember. It shouldn't be that hard to post pictures. Anyone wanna help me? So far I've drawn Dorian, Callum, and Fenris. Well, anyway, please let me know!!

Chapter Twenty-Three: Trouble in Redcliffe

 

Redcliffe, it turned out, was not to be their first stop. A part of Callum felt relieved as he had no wish to go to Redcliffe if Alexius was there, the man who created the time amulet which had been used to murder his family. He shivered just thinking about it. He knew he would have to face him eventually, but for right now, he would let Hawke deal with that if the need arose. Hawke was only supposed to be in Redcliffe to speak to Fiona, the Grand Enchanter who was staying there with the rebel mages. He hoped to get the rebel mages on the Inquisition’s side, but Callum had his doubts that would actually work. It didn’t seem like it would work anymore than attempting to gather the trust of the Templars.

He stayed silent on that matter, though, thankful it was not his decision to make. If he was in Hawke’s place he would have crumbled right now. Cassandra chose correctly when choosing the head of the Inquisition.

Hawke was in Redcliffe with Varric, Fenris, and Cassandra, while Callum explored the countryside with Dorian and Solas. Having two mages along with him was fascinating. He never had to worry about being attacked because he was constantly shrouded in a barrier at the first sign of unease. He could get used to this.

As it was, though, he was in charge of speaking with Dennet about horses, getting mounts for the Inquisition. Dennet, however, was not so keen on letting him have the horses, as it was dangerous right now with the mages and Templars fighting everywhere, but he did give Callum a chestnut.

Though what he was going to do with a horse while the others walked was another matter entirely.

The thanked Dennet and made camp along the riverside near the farms. His hand would not stop throbbing and glowing, crackling with the unnatural green energy, and he knew there were rifts nearby. He scowled down at his hand, willing it to stop, as he was still uncertain as to how he was supposed to even deal with these rifts. Yes, he could apparently close them, but he still had no idea how any of this worked.

Solas liked to be alone when they made camp, it seemed, as he would wander off to the side to meditate, or whatever it was he did. He looked like he was constantly thinking hard about something, and Callum dared not disturb him.

Dorian, however, rarely strayed far from his side, especially with his hand glowing like that. The mage eyed him carefully as he sat next to him near the fire, the sun setting rapidly to give way to a beautiful night sky filled with stars, despite the chill in the air.

“Does it hurt?” Dorian asked.

Callum shrugged, refusing to complain. “It’s fine.”

Dorian eyed him dubiously, clearly not believing him. “There are rifts nearby, then?”

“I guess.”

“Should we not take care of them?”

Callum shrugged again, looking away from the mage to instead focus on the fire, which was crackling much like his hand except with a more natural, orange glow.

“Is something amiss?”

“What’s with all the questions?”

Dorian went silent for a moment. “Apologies. I did not mean to…”

Callum sighed, shaking his head. “No, I’m sorry. I’m a little… tense, I guess.”

“Why? We spoke with Dennet. We need only wait for Hawke to meet us with news of Redcliffe.”

“Yes… but the rifts…”

“I thought you could close the rifts?” Now Dorian sounded confused.

“I can,” Callum said quickly. “I just… I’m not sure how I’m doing it, and it’s a little unsettling, that’s all.”

_Not to mention my hand feels as though I plunged it into the fire, but still…_

“I see,” Dorian said slowly. “So you have performance anxiety.”

Callum couldn’t help it – he burst out laughing at Dorian’s phrasing, looking back at the mage, finding Dorian smiling faintly at him. “Maker, you make it sound like I am just terrible. I’ll have you know I perform quite well when it matters.”

“And when does it matter, exactly?” There was a mischievous glow in Dorian’s eyes that hadn’t been there in a while. Callum smiled.

“ _Well_ ,” he said, watching as Dorian attempted to backtrack, the blush overtaking his face. “I’ll have you know I’ve never had any complaints from my bedmates.”

Dorian’s face was as red as a tomato as he quickly looked away. Callum liked that embarrassed look on him, though – it was cute. He liked the way his face darkened and yet brightened all at once and the way he seemed to be almost speechless for a few seconds.

“I see,” Dorian finally said.

Callum chuckled. “You’re too easy, you know? To embarrass, I mean.”

Dorian scowled but his cheeks were still red as he continued looking away from him. “I’m sure you have fun at my expense.”

“Aw, Dori, don’t be like that,” he said, smirking.

Dorian tensed, then, leaving his smirk dispersing to be replaced with a frown as the mage glanced over at him, expression softening.

“What?” Callum asked.

_What did I do now?_

“You haven’t called me that in a while,” Dorian said quietly.

“Oh,” Callum said. “Um. I can stop.”

Dorian smiled faintly. “It’s fine.”

“So you like it?”

The scowl returned. “I didn’t say that.”

“Ah, but, see, you didn’t say you hated it either,” Callum said, smiling at the mage. “That means you like it by default.”

He missed this, he realized. He missed joking around with Dorian. Things had been tense lately, and he couldn’t blame Dorian for that, as the fault was his own. He was the one with the mark on his hand; he was the one behaving differently, while Dorian had been surprisingly sweet and considerate since joining him at Haven. To travel all that way just because Hawke implied that Callum was possibly dying… well, he’d never had a friend like that.

He thought Emry was his best friend, but the elf gave up on him rather easily, while Dorian continued to wait for him to show up with the whole time traveling incident. Callum kept tabs on Emry and knew he was doing well for himself, but had never revealed himself. As far as Emry knew, Callum died nearly two years ago. Only Dorian and Hawke knew otherwise… well, and the people he was traveling with now, but they didn’t really count as he hadn’t known them before.

“Callum?”

“Yes?”

He blinked and focused on Dorian, who was watching him carefully. The fire cast dancing shadows across his face, giving his eyes this glowing amber hue, like dying sunlight exploding across his face.

_I must be tired if that’s what I’m thinking about._

He was exhausted, truthfully, and it had little to do with physical exertion.

“How is your hand now?”

Callum shrugged, placing the palm of his left hand flat against his thigh, attempting to block out the crackling green glow. “It’s fine,” he said.

“You do not have to lie to me, you know.”

“I’m not lying.”

Dorian sighed. “You do realize you can talk to me, yes?”

“I know,” he said, shaking his head, looking away from Dorian and his soft brown eyes. “I just… Right now I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So it does hurt, then?”

“Off and on. Not all the time.”

“How often?”

He sighed, realizing Dorian was not going to drop the matter until he answered. “Pretty often,” he finally said. “At random, sometimes during the night. Random throbbing all over, but especially if there’s a rift nearby. I doubt I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

Dorian was silent for a moment. Callum looked up at the sky, the stars becoming visible as the last of the sun’s rays faded along the horizon. The next thing he knew was the touch of fingers that were not his own, carefully prying his hand away from his thigh. His gaze snapped back toward Dorian who was carefully avoiding his gaze as he turned his hand over to inspect the glowing mark which kept pulsating. There was a rift nearby, but they would deal with it in the morning, after a bit of rest. They had been traveling all day, and that rift would still be there in the morning.

Pain throbbed as Dorian’s fingers skimmed over the green hue. Callum bit down on his lower lip, allow the inspection to continue because he knew Dorian would not allow him to change the subject until he was done.

“This is unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” Dorian told him seriously.

Callum shrugged. “Yes, well… lucky me.”

“I am still uncertain what it even is. It’s magic, but it is not… something I understand.”

“I’m not a mage.”

Dorian scowled. “Yes, I’m aware of that fact. I don’t know how you can harness such power, without being a mage.”

“Again – lucky me.”

Dorian shook his head, grip loosening on Callum’s hand. Callum carefully extracted his hand and lowered it back down into his lap to rest easily next to his other one. The one which didn’t ache and throb and glow. Once upon a time his left hand shared that trait. Now… not so much.

“Have they mentioned if it can be fixed?”

Callum shook his head, a knot in his stomach every time he thought about it. “It… It might be permanent, I don’t know.”

_What will I do if I have to have this the rest of my life?_

If he had to deal with the random bouts of pain, the green glow, the rifts and the Inquisition… if his days of freedom were over… if this was to be his life from now on…

His stomach churned at the thought.

“I am sure we can find a way to reverse it,” Dorian said.

“Hopefully,” Callum said. “I don’t… I don’t want to stay like this.”

“Then we will fix it,” Dorian said firmly.

Callum smiled faintly, watching the way Dorian’s expression set in determination. “Thank you.”

“For what? I haven’t done anything.”

“Just for… being here, I guess. Thanks.”

Dorian smiled. “In that case, my friend, you are most welcome.”

Wolves howled in the distance, and Callum’s head snapped up in the direction of the sound. They were a ways away, of course, and not an immediate threat, but he remembered how the horse-master’s wife had spoken harshly of the wolves and how they were now attacking humans instead of wildlife, and not fleeing at the sight of fire. That was odd indeed.

_We’ll have to deal with them while we’re here, too, I suppose._

If they wanted to get the horses for the Inquisition, they needed to take care of the wolves, make this area safer so Dennet could send the horses to the Inquisition, and then build watchtowers to help keep the chaos to a minimum. It would take a while, and it was the not the end of it by a long shot. They needed to spread their influence across all of southern Thedas, and that meant helping as many people as possible, and close as many rifts as they could. As there were rifts everywhere, he knew he was going to be tired for a long time.

Even when they finished in the Hinterlands, it would not be over for a long time. There would always be somewhere else to go, another rift to close, someone else to help… it would never stop.

He missed the old days when all he had to worry about was finding his family’s killer and keeping Emry out of trouble. This sudden weight on his shoulders, the fact he was the only one capable of closing the rifts, was almost too much to bear. He was happy he was not put at the head of the Inquisition as well – that would be too much. _This_ was too much by itself, and if he thought about it too long, though about the future too long and all the rifts he would have to close and the lives he would be responsible for if he hesitated or took too long in closing a rift… it would drive him insane.

“Sleep,” Dorian said suddenly, so close it left Callum flinching physically from his thoughts as he looked back at the mage to find him closer than he had been before, sitting next to him by the fire, leaning toward him somewhat. “Sorry – you were away.”

“I’m here,” Callum sighed, scrubbing his good hand across his face. “I just… I don’t want to be like this forever.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Dorian promised. “You are not alone.”

Callum smiled at him. “Thank you. And I think I will take you up on that offer. Wake me if there’s trouble.”

“I will.”

“Wake me in a few hours regardless,” Callum said. “I’ll take over.”

“Very well,” Dorian said as Callum got to his feet, stretching before moving toward one of the tents they’d put up.

Callum looked back and smiled at Dorian one last time before disappearing into his tent, exhaustion weighing heavy in his bones.

As he sank down onto his sleeping pad in his tent, he listened to the peaceful sounds of the night – the fire crackling outside his tent, the sound of small animals not far off, crickets chirping…

Once upon a time, when he was little and was camping with his family, he found the sounds annoying and could not get to sleep. Now, though, it was just the lullaby he needed, and he was asleep within minutes of laying down.

xXx

Dealing with the rift near their camp, after finally finding it along the riverside, turned out to be quite the problem. Dorian realized, belatedly, that three of them was perhaps not enough to deal with this, and the demons slipping free of the Fade.

He was exhausted, running low on mana, and had lost track of Callum some time ago. Hurtling an ice spell at the nearest demon which had crouched to pounce on him, he took a second to look around, finding Solas across the battlefield, but unable to find Callum anywhere. He had little time to worry about that, though, as his spell wore off rather quickly and the demon nearly tackled him, but he managed to step aside at the last minute, nearly toppling over his own feet in his haste.

Using a mind blast spell, he flung the demon away from him, using the last of his mana. He leaned over a bit, panting heavily, exhaustion coursing through his veins, worsening with every beat of his racing heart. He could not keep this up.

The demon stood, and readied itself to attack him again. He was too tired to cast a spell and out of mana, but he held his staff at the ready nevertheless, thankful for his staff blade. If nothing else he could at least take the demon out with him, though he did not wish to die here.

Suddenly he heard a crackling sound, and then something exploded – an odd explosion that left the demon disappearing in thin green lines, rushing toward the rift. Callum stood beneath the rift with his hand raised, a similar thin green line running from his palm to the center of the rift. Dorian couldn’t see his face from where he stood but his posture was that of concentration – steady, firm, unyielding. Then he clenched his hand into a fist and the rift seemed to implode, disappearing and leaving behind only an afterglow to remind them of what had once been there.

Callum took in a breath, lowering his hand, shoulders slumping somewhat. Dorian quickly hurried toward him to find him biting his lower lip, eyes closed.

“Callum?”

“I’m fine,” Callum said, opening his eyes. “My hand is just throbbing. It’ll stop in a second.”

Dorian frowned. “Is this what happens every time?” he asked, realizing this was the first time he was actually seeing Callum close the rifts. He hadn’t doubted that he could, but hadn’t been aware what it might look like. He made it look so incredibly easy, despite the pain he felt afterward.

“Kind of.”

“How does that work, exactly?” he asked.

Callum remained silent.

“You don’t even know, do you?” Dorian asked, watching him. “You just wriggle your fingers, and _boom_ , rift closes.”

Callum shrugged, looking tired in the faint afterglow of green. “Something like that,” he agreed. “I don’t really know much about it.”

“We must keep going,” Solas said, and Dorian glanced over at the other mage as he approached. “We have a ways to travel in search of other rifts.”

Callum nodded even as Dorian scowled at the elf. He knew it was important to keep moving so Callum could close the rifts – that was why they were here, after all – but that was no reason to make him keep moving as soon as he finished closing one, since it caused him pain.

Callum didn’t give him time to argue, though, as he carefully led the way out of the riverbank.

Dorian sighed and followed after him, along with Solas. He wasn’t sure what he thought about Solas, to be truthful. It was nice to have a fellow mage around, but he didn’t seem quite as friendly as Hawke. Solas mostly kept to himself, and while Dorian could appreciate the fact not everyone was friendly, Solas seemed a little… strange. Dorian didn’t know much about him, so perhaps that was the case, but he had no way of knowing for sure. He was not on friendly terms with the elf so he couldn’t just ask him about his personal life in an effort to get to know him better. Solas would most likely either ignore him or shoot him that exasperated look of his.

They traveled in silence for a while. Eventually Callum’s hand started glowing again, leaving the rogue stiffening, no doubt as pain shot through him. Dorian wished he could help but as he was not a healer, he could not ease the pain, nor would he know how to do so with this type of magic.

They came across the rift a short time later. Demons poured out of the Fade upon their arrival. By this point half of Dorian’s mana had returned, but he would have to choose his spells wisely so as not to overdo it. Becoming exhausted and without mana again would not help anyone.

As before, he lost sight of Callum when the rogue, fixed with Solas’ barrier, went invisible to the naked eye, carefully cloaking himself to no doubt maneuver closer. Dorian wished him luck but could not dwell on it as a demon sprung on him, nearly tackling him to the ground. Wraiths hovered nearby, little floating blobs shooting at him from afar. Callum appeared behind the farthest one, easily taking it out before it had time to react to his sudden presence. The second wraith moved toward Callum, but Dorian lost sight of them as the demon in front of him finally managed to pounce on him.

His staff rolled away from his grip as he hit the ground hard, the demon’s clawed hands easily pushing his shoulders down to keep him flat. He muttered a quick mind blast to get the demon off him, and quickly rolled over, fingers stretching for his staff. Finally his probing fingers knocked against the staff and he curled his grip around it before pushing to his feet, just in time as the demon was ready to pounce again. Quickly, he cast a quick ice spell, freezing the demon, and then rammed his staff blade home in the thing’s stomach.

It disappeared into thin green lines, floating through the air to return through the rift. Callum cast him a quick glance with Dorian returned, and the rogue, finished dealing with the last wraith, raised his glowing hand to the rift as he had before. A few seconds later, the rift imploded and rained down upon them with a soft green light, and Callum dropped his hand back to his side, looking at the two mages.

“You two okay?”

“I am well,” Solas said.

“Same here,” Dorian replied. “Yourself?”

Callum smiled and nodded, flexing his left hand as the green glow died away. “I think I’m getting the hang of this. And I don’t think there are more rifts around, at least not through here.”

Dorian smiled back. “Well, that is good, I suppose.”

“About time, huh?”

“Perhaps we should travel to Redcliffe to rendezvous with Hawke,” Solas suggested.

Dorian scowled as Callum nodded, copper-green eyes shifting toward the elf. “You’re right.”

“A rest would not be remiss,” Dorian offered, knowing Callum had to be tired. Dorian himself was exhausted after fighting so much, and he didn’t have to worry about a glowing hand and unknown power and expectations.

“Solas is right,” Callum said reluctantly. “We should hurry there if there are no more rifts nearby.” He looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers briefly. “It appears to be rift-free at the moment.”

Dorian knew they were supposed to meet Hawke once they had taken care of the rifts in this area, but there was no set timeline. He did wonder how long Hawke would remain in Redcliffe, and he was curious to see how Felix was doing, not only with his sickness but also with his father, the time amulet, and the Venatori.

“Very well,” he finally said, nodding at Callum. “Lead the way.”

xXx

Redcliffe was just how Dorian remembered it – growing more crowded every day as refugees caught in the mage-templar war fled the chaos, but still with that certain, small town charm which he liked in the first place. Hawke greeted them just inside Redcliffe, wearing a troubled expression, and whatever hopes Dorian had for a peaceful, quick encounter vanished in that moment.

“Did everything go okay with the mages?” Callum asked, though by the sound of his voice, he already knew the answer.

“Something… strange happened,” Hawke said, frowning before glancing at Dorian. “I was hoping you might know something about it.”

Immediately everyone’s gaze turned to him, and he felt his face burn slightly. In Tevinter, being the center of attention was never a good thing – it often left his father shouting at him to get over his affliction and continue the family’s legacy.

“What?” Dorian asked.

“Well… Fiona met us in Val Royeaux,” Hawke said carefully. “You were there.”

“Yes, I saw her,” Dorian said.

“Well… she said to meet her here to discuss the rebel mages,” Hawke said.

“And?” Callum asked.

“Fiona has apparently never spoken to us, and has given herself and the rebel mages over to Gereon Alexius.”

At the mention of his old mentor’s name, Dorian blood ran cold even before Callum looked at him inquisitively. “I don’t know why she would do that,” Dorian said truthfully. “Nor why Alexius would trouble himself with southern problems, or ally himself with the rebel mages.”

None of it made sense. Especially the part about Fiona saying she had never met them before, that she had not been in Val Royeaux to personally invite them to Redcliffe. Something was not right here.

“The time amulet,” Dorian muttered as it hit him.

Callum frowned. “What?”

“Alexius must have managed to get the time amulet working,” Dorian said worriedly. If he got the amulet working, then Dorian truly was at least partially responsible for Callum’s family’s death. If he got it working, then they were that much closer to when the blood mage traveled back to kill the rogue’s family.

_Which means… the blood mage is still out there…_

It was something Dorian thought about off and on, but tried not to dwell on. Mostly because at the time he’d been attempting to track down Alexius, waiting for Callum to show up, and then again waiting for the rogue to return after he chased him off in this very town.

But the blood mage would be arriving soon, if the time amulet was indeed working. He’d thought Alexius was using his time magic before, when he found out about his ties to the Venatori, but it was nothing major, just this sense of déjà vu he couldn’t quite rid himself of, but other than that, it wasn’t perfected. Now, to change time like this, so clearly, certainly seemed like he got it working, if only in a small area.

For example, they still remembered speaking with Fiona, even though she didn’t. He must have only gotten it working within Redcliffe, as Callum, Hawke and himself remained unaffected, still remembering seeing Fiona in Val Royeaux.

“Interesting,” Dorian said to himself.

“Want to share your thoughts?” Callum asked, frowning at him.

Dorian could only imagine what was running through the rogue’s head, what he thought about all of this. It couldn’t be anything good, and he was being reminded once again that Dorian had ties to that time amulet. He worried it would ruin the tentative peace between them, and leave him back to sleeping on the floor, and Callum barely speaking to him. The thought left him taking in a slow breath as he attempted to collect his thoughts enough to speak them to the rogue clearly.

“That’s not all,” Hawke said before he had a chance to say anything, and Callum’s gaze slid toward the other mage. “Alexius said something rather odd.”

“Odd?” Dorian asked, frowning. “Odd how?”

“He did not wish to speak to the Inquisitor,” Cassandra said, sounding troubled herself.

“Then… who did he wish to speak to?” Callum asked, but judging from the tone of his voice, he already knew.

Dorian hoped he was wrong.

“He only wanted to talk to the Herald of Andraste,” Hawke said. “The weird thing is we didn’t mention you at all, but he knows about the mark on your hand.”

_Why do I have a bad feeling about all of this…_

The knot in his stomach tightened. At this rate he would soon have ulcers and a permanent stomach problem.

Callum chewed briefly on his lower lip. “What does he want with me?”

“I don’t know, but he said he would only negotiate the mages’ freedom with you,” Varric said. “Doesn’t take a genius to realize he’s hiding something.”

“His son, Felix, slipped me this,” Hawke said, holding out a folded note.

Dorian swallowed at the mention of his friend. Callum accepted the folded paper and quickly read it, a frown working its way onto his face before he handed it to Dorian.

_You are in danger. Meet me tomorrow morning in Redcliffe’s chantry. Tell no one._

He recognized Felix’s hastily written scrawl. Felix used to have great handwriting, for which Dorian was jealous, but as he grew more shaky due to his sickness, his handwriting suffered greatly. He carefully handed the note back to Hawke, avoiding Callum’s eye.

“So… are we meeting him tomorrow, then?” Callum asked after a brief moment of silence.

“I do not think that is wise,” Cassandra said. “This is clearly a trap.”

“Felix wouldn’t bring us into a trap,” Dorian said firmly.

“And what do you know about it?” Cassandra asked sharply, her gaze quickly resting upon him. He felt more than a little uneasy under her intense stare.

“Dorian knows Felix from Tevinter,” Callum said. “And besides, why would Felix slip us this note when he could just let us keep meeting with his father? It makes no sense. I say he’s telling the truth, and we should meet him.”

Dorian stared at the rogue for a moment, silently thankful he at least believed Dorian when he said Felix was a good person. It meant a lot to him. It especially meant a lot that he didn’t bother elaborating on Dorian’s connection with Felix, which would have most likely left the others questioning him, or at the very least, doubting him a little.

_Thank you._

“Well,” Callum said, “I’m tired. Closing rifts is tough work. We’re staying in town, then?”

“I don’t know if that is wise,” Fenris said, speaking up for the first time. He was usually just Hawke’s silent shadow, hovering and ever-present but never heard. “Even if the chantry is not a trap, which in all likelihood it _is_ , staying in town when we have been warned it is not safe is perhaps not the best idea.”

“He has a point,” Hawke said quietly.

“If we leave, then we are letting them know we are scared of them,” Varric offered.

“You have a point,” Hawke said uncertainly.

Solas and Cassandra were staying silent on the matter – Solas because it was not his place to decide, and Cassandra because she had already said her peace. Dorian opened his mouth to give his own input, but before he could do so, Callum shrugged and began heading further into the town.

“I’ll be in town,” he called over his shoulder. “You can stay or wait out here, but I’m tired, and I smell food.”

There was a moment’s hesitation among the group. Dorian was the first to start following the rogue, walking quickly to catch up. Behind him came the others, their footsteps heavy against the dirt path beneath them.

xXx

They wound up locating the inn where Dorian stayed when he was last here – and back when he chased Callum away – and got three rooms. It took a lot of coin to pay for the rooms as well as dinner, but in the end it was worth it.

He sat heavily on the single bed in the room he shared with Callum. Two of the rooms only had one bed, and the final room had two beds. Varric, Cassandra and Solas had the third room with the two beds, while Hawke and Fenris had the second room with the single bed.

And that left Dorian and Callum sharing a room as well as a bed.

Dorian was not complaining. In fact he was too full to complain, having finished his food roughly an hour ago. He sat back contentedly against the covers and pillows on the bed, the only light in the room that of the flickering candle on the bedside table.

Callum kicked off his shoes and joined him on the bed, yawning widely.

“Long day,” Callum said as he scrubbed his good hand over his face.

“Yes,” Dorian quietly agreed, watching the rogue pull his shirt over his head, tossing it easily to the ground. He cast Dorian a quick look and he quickly averted his gaze.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind what, exactly?”

_You will have to be more specific; I am preoccupied._

Preoccupied with attempting to look anywhere but at Callum.

_These thoughts really have to stop. They will do me no good._

“If I keep the shirt off,” Callum said. “This room is a little hot with the boarded up window.”

“No, I do not mind,” Dorian said, even as a part of his mind blanched at the thought.

 _Get a grip, Dorian. He is merely sleeping without a shirt, next to you, in the same bed. It is not like you haven’t seen worse. Remember that one time with_ -

He stopped his train of thought there and looked up at the ceiling, taking in a slow breath as Callum eased down into the covers and pillows next to him.

“I have a question.”

“Ask away,” Dorian breathed, still looking up at the ceiling as he lay on his back.

“Well… what do you think about Alexius?”

Dorian knew this conversation would happen eventually, so he was not surprised. He was, however, caught off guard by the fact Callum would choose _now_ to speak of it, when they were clearly getting ready for bed.

Then again, they hadn’t had time to themselves to discuss such a thing until now. They found the inn, got rooms, and then ate with the rest of their group. This was the only alone time they had.

“I don’t know,” he said truthfully. “We theorized about time magic but could never get it to work. He has obviously surpassed expectation and gotten it to work, though only in one area.”

“Redcliffe,” Callum said, and Dorian smiled, happy they were on the same line of thought.

“Yes,” he said, “exactly. We remember seeing Fiona because her day only rewound enough for her to not show up in Val Royeaux, but it only happened within Redcliffe. Outside of Redcliffe times goes by as normal. Alexius has not perfected this magic, but he is getting close.”

 _A little too close,_ Dorian thought sourly.

“A little too close,” Callum said, echoing Dorian’s thoughts, and he glanced over at the rogue to find him looking up at the ceiling as well, resting on his back with an arm folded beneath his head.

“I am sorry.”

“For what?”

“I… helped create the time amulet.”

Callum sighed. “Not this again.” He looked away from the ceiling, focusing on Dorian with sharp, narrowed eyes. “Get this through that thick skull of yours, Dorian – _I don’t blame you_. For anything. You’re not at fault so stop apologizing. Even if you single-handedly created the time amulet, I still couldn’t hold it against you because it wasn’t _you_ who used it for evil purposes. Do you understand?”

Dorian nodded, warmth flooding through him at not only Callum’s words, but that look in his eyes. This crush, or whatever it was, needed to stop before it became too much. He already enjoyed Callum’s company too much. He was too attached, but attempting to distance himself was not something he could do even if he wanted to, and he didn’t. He liked being close to Callum, and he was tired of telling himself otherwise. He was tired of always unconsciously submitting to his father’s rules, even after all these years of living outside of Tevinter.

His father was not here to lecture him. He could like who he wanted, and even act on such urges.

“You know, Callum,” he said hesitantly, looking back at the rogue, only to find his eyes closed and expression serene as his breaths began to even out.

Dorian didn’t even know what he wanted to say – _something_ , at least, something about how he felt but somehow even if he found the words he could not find the courage – and he didn’t wish to disturb Callum. He clearly needed his rest. Closing the rifts was tough business, fighting all those demons and then wriggling his fingers to actually close the gaping holes into the Fade. It hurt him, too. Dorian wished he could help but he didn’t even know what that mark on his hand was, let alone how to treat it or reverse it.

He doubted he’d be able to find much help on the mater, either, since everyone was worried about either the rifts or the mage-templar war. They were not going to help him look for a way to reverse it if Callum was the only way to close the rifts.

That did not mean Dorian couldn’t wish things were different.

He looked back at Callum, sleeping soundly next to him. A soft smile spread across Dorian’s lips.

“One day,” Dorian said quietly, voice merely a soft breath of air, “we will find out about that mark, and we will reverse it.”

He took in a breath.

“Until then – sleep, my friend.”


	25. Throw Me to the Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callum and Dorian are at odds when it is revealed Alexius wishes to speak with Callum - alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I agonized over the ending of this chapter. I really did. I don't know if it's too soon or what, but oh well xD There it is. I do have about 2k written of the next chapter. This was going to be one long chapter but it was already around 7k if I kept the other bit with it, so I chopped it in half and this chapter is about 4.6k. A little longer than usual :) Thoughts?
> 
> PS: I am having company over for a few days (family) so I don't know when I will have time to play the game and update, but we'll see how it goes :)

Chapter Twenty-Four: Throw Me to the Wolves

 

In the end, Hawke, Fenris, Dorian and Cassandra wound up traveling to the chantry in Redcliffe while Callum, Varric, and Solas remained behind at the inn, just in case it was indeed a trap for the Herald of Andraste. Callum still wasn’t sure what to think of that moniker; it just didn’t suit him. He wasn’t Maker-sent; he wasn’t holy; he wasn’t anything special. At the most he was someone who happened to be in the wrong place at the right time – or wrong time, since he still had no memories of what happened at the Conclave. By this point he doubted they would just suddenly return to him.

He spent the morning eating breakfast and listening to people’s problems. Refugess fled to Recliffe due to the war, as they had nowhere else to go, and Redcliffe was only a stopping point itself. People in the Hinterlands fled their homes and wound up here, and they had a lot of small things to worry about – such as a man wanting to bring flowers to his wife’s shrine. Callum sympathized with him; if he had a significant other who died, he would want to honor them any way he could. He promised the man he would take flowers to his wife’s shrine when he was able to do so.

By the rate things were going, though, he wasn’t sure when that would be.

Dorian and the others were gone for nearly two hours. He hoped that meant they were merely speaking with Felix and it wasn’t a trap, but as time dragged on, he became increasingly worried, casting glances toward the chantry.

Finally the group emerged, looking unharmed, and joined them at the inn where Varric was attempting to get everyone to play a game of Wicked Grace. Callum was not very good at cards, and Solas seemed to think it was a silly human game, thus beneath him. The game never started and the others finally returned.

“Well?” Callum asked. “Judging by the fact you’re all still alive, I take it things went well?”

“Kind of,” Hawke agreed with a nod. “However, we still have a problem.”

“And what’s that?” Callum asked, frowning.

“Alexius is working with a cult group called the Venatori. Not only that, but he will only negotiate the mages’ release with _you_.”

“Why me?” Callum asked. “I mean – all I have is this crazy mark on my hand. You’re the one in charge; shouldn’t he speak with you?”

“He should,” Dorian said, scowling. “This does not seem right.”

That meant a lot, coming from Dorian, who at one point was close to Alexius. He now suspected Alexius was involved with a darker purpose. Did that meant Felix was as well?

_No – Felix warned us, he wouldn’t be involved._

Everything was so very confusing. And it had started out such a nice morning.

“So… do you want me to go speak with him?” Callum asked.

“Absolutely not,” Dorian said, as Hawke shook his head.

“He doesn’t wish to speak with you here, but at Redcliffe Castle.”

“Do we go now?” Callum asked, frowning.

Hawke shook his head. “I don’t trust it.”

“But it’s the only way to get the mages,” Callum said. “Don’t we need them?”

“We could just as easily get the Templars,” Fenris said.

Both Dorian and Hawke shot him a quick look, both of them being mages. Fenris shrugged and looked away, having said his piece.

“Cullen said we didn’t have enough support or influence to conscript the Templars yet,” Callum reminded them. “And we need magic anyway, for this mark.”

_Yes, let’s just pump more magic into this unknown mark. What’s the harm in powering up something we barely understand?_

“We will return to Haven,” Hawke said. “We are running low on supplies, and we need to check in. We’ll return in a week, after we’ve come up with a plan. You know this is a trap, right?”

Callum shrugged; of course it was a trap. Why wouldn’t it be? Now that he had a mark on his hand suddenly he wasn’t invisible anymore. He preferred barely existing to this. “I know, but it’s not like we have a choice. We need the mages, and the mages should be freed anyway.”

“Yes, they ran to Alexius because they were desperate,” Hawke said with a nod.

“They fled like cowards,” Fenris corrected him, and Hawke smirked at the elf.

“Either way, we are not prepared for confrontation right now,” Cassandra said firmly. “We must return to Haven and come up with a strategy.”

“This is up to you, of course,” Hawke said, looking at Callum. “I’m not going to throw you to the wolves if you say you hate dogs.”

Callum smirked at the phrasing, and the fact he was actually being asked if he wished to be a part of something. Usually they just assumed he would help them, since he was the only one who could close the rifts, and rarely asked for his input. Half the time they even expected him to take charge, when Hawke was not around. It was exhausting and he felt like he was slowly losing a piece of himself, surrounded in this strange world with this mark on his hand.

Along with the knowledge that if he didn’t have this mark, he would not be needed at all. He would be rather expendable, and they would not be asking his opinion on anything. He would have been executed for the Divine’s death before he had a chance to plead innocent. This mark saved him and yet cursed him.

_I just want it gone._

“I’ll do it,” he finally said, even as Dorian scowled at him. He knew perhaps Dorian wouldn’t want him to go – though why, he wasn’t sure – but this was what needed to be done. It wasn’t about him, or Dorian – it was about the mages and closing the Breach. Everything else could wait.

Hawke smiled. “Then we will return to Haven and think of a plan of attack.” He clapped Callum on the back. Callum couldn’t help but smile at the very brief show of affection, as Hawke seemed the friendly type but rarely touched anyone. Perhaps it was a side effect of being a mage; Dorian barely touched people, either.

Callum nodded at Hawke’s words, even as he glanced across the small town of Redcliffe toward the castle sitting high on a hill beyond the lake. The storm clouds hovering around it were foreboding at the very least, and he knew things would not simply get easier as the days passed.

Things would get worse.

_It always gets worse before it gets better._

If it got better.

“Might I have a word with you,” Dorian said, eying him carefully, and Callum nodded, following the mage away from the rest of their group so they could talk privately. Already Dorian was glaring at him.

“What?” Callum asked. “What did I do now?”

“You cannot be serious,” Dorian said, brows furrowed. “You would willingly walk into a trap?”

“We need the mages,” Callum said, “and he’ll only talk to me.”

“Have you forgotten he is the one who probably gave that blood mage the time amulet?” Dorian hissed through clenched teeth, soft brown eyes hardened and narrowed into thin, angry slits.

All he did was seem to upset Dorian lately. He hated it.

He wasn’t sure what he felt for Dorian – deep friendship or something more – but it left him instantly wishing to fix whatever was wrong to wipe that expression of the mage’s face, a knee-jerk reaction he was a little unfamiliar with.

“I know,” he said quietly, his own eyes narrowing. “There’s no way I could _forget_ that little detail, Dorian.”

Alexius was tied to the man who killed Callum’s family. Maybe on some subconscious level it was why he wanted to speak with Alexius, and not the fact it was the right thing to do, but thinking about it was unwise. It just led to a plethora of questions for which he had no answers. It was best to just keep moving forward and not think of the past, of time travel and fair haired blood mages.

“Then why willingly go to him?” Dorian demanded, still glaring at him. “Have you no concern for your life?”

Callum hesitated, unable to answer that at the moment. Of course he cared about his life; he wanted to live! But on some level, he was tired, and he felt he’d died a few times over ever since he traveled seven months into the future. Everything was so confusing and he just wanted things to go back to normal.

Dorian’s expression hardened when he offered to response. Dorian’s thin fingers sought purchase on Callum’s shoulders, giving him a quick shake as hard brown eyes bored into his own. “You are not expendable,” Dorian said. “You are the only one who can close the rifts, or have you forgotten? What would we do if Alexius killed you?”

A knot formed in Callum’s stomach – this dark, dreadful feeling he rather hated. Glancing away from the mage and swallowing thickly, he shrugged and carefully pulled away from Dorian’s hold, the mage only now lightly gripping the fabric of Callum’s light armor.

“I’m sure you could always chop my hand off and attach it to someone,” Callum said, attempting to make light of the situation, but it failed horribly as Dorian only continued to glare at him.

“Do not joke about that,” Dorian snapped.

“I don’t… I don’t know what you want me to say,” Callum said quietly, frowning at the mage. “Don’t you think I should at least _speak_ with Alexius? Don’t the mages deserve at least that much?”

Dorian sighed, shoulders drooping somewhat even as his grip tightened along Callum’s own shoulders. “I know you mean well, Callum, but the risk…”

“There’s always a risk, Dorian.”

“Yes, I know, especially when it concerns you. You have a knack for getting yourself into tricky situations.”

“Thank you.”

Dorian scowled. “That was not a compliment.”

Callum smiled. “Look, I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine, and I’ve made up my mind. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Dorian’s scowl deepened as he released Callum finally. “ _Festis bei umo caravarum,_ ” the mage said with a frown.

“I still don’t know what that means,” Callum said.

Dorian shook his head and turned away from Callum, heading back toward the others. Callum watched him go for a moment, before he sighed and followed after him, joining the others as they began their journey from Redcliffe to Haven.

They would need a strategy before heading to Redcliffe Castle.

xXx

After reaching Haven, the group rested for a day before it was back to work as usual. Dorian spent his free day sleeping and attempting to fix his staff, which had more than a few knicks in it from the battles it saw. It would perhaps have to be trashed at some point, and he’d have to get a new one. He scowled at the thought; he always hated breaking in a new staff. Half the time the spells came out too weak or too strong, or decided to attack him instead of the enemy. Wielding a staff was much more different than using a blade. Blades didn’t turn on their owners.

_Would that they could, though._

It would certainly make fighting bandits and everything a lot easier. Then again it could also be used on them, so perhaps it was not the best idea after all.

He spent his day in Callum’s cabin – _their_ cabin as he still had nowhere to stay and had no intention of leaving – reading by the fireplace until late in the evening, when Callum opened the door to the cabin after having trained with Cassandra and the new female elf, Sera. The scent of freshly roasted food wafted toward Dorian, leaving him immediately putting his book down to look out the window.

“Is it that late already?”

“Time flies when you’re reading, I guess,” Callum said with a cheeky grin. “You’re such a little bookworm.”

Dorian scowled, getting to his feet. “What’s that you have there?”

His stomach growled at the smell of roasted nug. It had been a while since he had eaten; he hadn’t noticed the hunger creeping up on him, focused on his reading and enjoying his relaxing day off even if he was alone in the cabin, but now the hunger hit him full force, leaving his mouth salivating.

Callum chuckled and held the plate out to him. “This is yours,” he said.

Dorian frowned, blinking at the offered food before carefully accepting it. “You brought me dinner?”

Callum shrugged, turning away from Dorian to head into his bedroom. Dorian typically slept in the entry room, near the fireplace, while Callum had the bedroom and the bed.

“Thought you might be hungry,” Callum said as he rounded a corner, disappearing from Dorian’s view. He debated following after the rogue to continue this conversation like civilized adults, but in the end decided against it because he did not want to give Callum the wrong idea.

_Or perhaps the right idea._

He scowled.

_Stop it, brain._

“Thank you,” he said, sitting back down in the chair he’d been in most of the day, bringing the first bite of his food to his mouth. He had never been much of a nug fan back in Tevinter, but since living in Fereldan, he found it had a certain charm and tang to it. Also, he was starving; he’d eat anything.

“You’re welcome,” Callum said a moment later, poking his head out of his bedroom area almost shyly, leaving Dorian frowning at him. “I hope you don’t mind, but I have a question.”

Dorian’s pulse quickened somewhat.

_He knows. He knows and he is kicking me out._

“What is it?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral.

“I was hoping to take a bath tonight – last day of relaxation, after all – but I don’t want to wait for the water to get warm,” Callum said. “I’m very lazy, you see; bone idle.”

Dorian couldn’t help but smirk even as his pulse raced further. “You wish for me to heat your water?” Dorian asked.

“Could you?” Callum said hopefully, and there was no way Dorian could say to that voice and that expression.

“Of course,” Dorian said. “Perhaps when I have finished eating?”

“Oh, right, sorry,” Callum said, nodding quickly. “Thank you, Dorian. Enjoy your food.”

Dorian sighed when Callum retracted from the room, back in his bedroom once again, and focused on slowly eating his food. He couldn’t put this off forever, but a part of him wanted to wait as long as possible, while another part was eagerly anticipating what would happen next.

He was going to heat Callum’s bathwater. On the surface that was nothing; a friend helping out a friend. And yet if he dug deeper, it was something else entirely.

In all the time he’d known Callum, the rogue had never asked such a thing. He refused when Dorian offered, once. Now, though, he readily accepted the help and even _asked_ for it. That seemed to be a sign of trust, and Dorian’s stomach felt light and hot with the knowledge, leaving a silly smile spreading across his face.

After finishing his food, he joined Callum in his bedroom, where he had a tub waiting for him, completely empty. Callum sheepishly looked at Dorian from behind his sandy bangs.

“I don’t suppose you could get me water, too?”

Dorian chuckled. “You are manipulative.”

“Aw, thanks,” Callum said, smirking.

“That was not a compliment.”

“Don’t care, taking it as one,” Callum said happily, gesturing at the tub. “You’re the best.”

Dorian smiled at the words and knelt next to the tub to begin urging water to materialize and flow into the basin. As he did this, stirring the water with his finger to speed things along, he glanced back at Callum to see the rogue watching him, expression – _something_. Something Dorian couldn’t remember seeing before. Something good.

“See anything you like?” he couldn’t help but quip.

Callum smirked again, lazily. “I’ll let you know.”

“Please do.”

The rogue chuckled, shaking his head.

Dorian took in a breath, frowning faintly. “What did they say at the meeting today?”

While Dorian got the day off, Cassandra, Callum and Cullen not only trained but also attempted to think of a plan of attack for when Callum would go to Redcliffe Castle. An idea which Dorian was still against, very profusely. Having Callum go to Redcliffe was a terrible idea. Once upon a time he would not have questioned Alexius or his motives, and would have even urged Callum to speak with him, but now that he knew otherwise…

He didn’t trust Alexius.

More than that, he didn’t trust Alexious _with Callum’s life_.

He would end it as soon as he got the chance, Dorian knew. He wasn’t sure how he was so certain, it was just a feeling he got. His gut feelings had served him well since he left Tevinter, though.

Callum shrugged. “They are going to send me in with a few scouts masquerading as guards,” he said quietly, frowning as he chewed briefly on his lower lip, gaze settling on the rippling water in the basin, growing ever higher.

“That does not seem safe,” Dorian pointed out with a frown.

“That’s the best we can do. It’s safest if only a few scouts go through the secret passage and take out the guards,” Callum said.

“Secret passage?”

“Don’t ask,” the rogue sighed, scrubbing his good hand over his face, looking more exhausted than he had the day before.

Even though they were supposed to be resting physically – which clearly Callum did not know the meaning of – the rogue was not getting the rest he desired nor the respite he needed. He’d had a lot on his mind as of late, which Dorian understood, but everyone needed to get out of their head sometimes.

“I have a question.”

He didn’t realize he spoke until Callum eyed him, silently asking ‘what?’

“I…”

Dorian had no idea what to say, or why he even said anything in the first place.

He took in a slow breath as Callum’s copper-green eyes watched his every move, a predator in their own right.

“This flirting business,” he said, sounding more casual than he felt, “it’s all well and good, and fun, but what is this to you?”

Callum frowned, clearly confused, which was not Dorian’s intention. “What do you mean?”

“You flirt with me,” Dorian said.

“I… okay, sometimes,” Callum said, shifting on his feet as he looked away.

“Do not be ashamed,” Dorian chided. “I have… I have enjoyed our flirtations.”

“You have?”

He nodded after Callum’s head swiveled back toward him instead of the rising water, carefully holding his gaze as he smiled faintly.

_This is it, Dorian. Now or never._

He opened his mouth to say _something_ , though he didn’t know what, just sometime to let Callum know about the raging emotions inside of him, all connected to Callum in some way, but sadly was interrupted.

Interrupted by a knock at the door.

It startled them both, leaving Callum instinctively reaching for his daggers which were not present on his back, as he had taken them off shortly after returning to the cabin. Dorian’s staff was in the other room, meaning he had no way of grabbing it should their guest be an enemy.

The person knocked again, and his doubts fled a little. No enemy would knock; they would just enter.

Callum and Dorian shared a quick look before they both moved toward the other room and the door as the person knocked yet again. Callum opened the door to reveal Hawke standing there, looking distinctly troubled, and Dorian’s good mood from earlier today vanished completely.

_One day. Just one day. Why can’t we even have that?_

“Sorry to bother you,” Hawke said, looking at Callum, “but this is important.”

 _It’s always important,_ Dorian thought with a scowl.

Callum nodded. “What’s wrong, then?”

Hawke hesitated briefly, before he met Callum’s eye. “Alexius has sent word through a messenger. He says he will only speak with the Herald of Andraste, and no one else.”

“He already said that,” Callum said, frowning. Dorian agreed with him.

_Why is this news?_

It wasn’t worth interrupting them over, especially when Dorian had finally been attempting to collect his thoughts enough to finally tell Callum the truth about how he felt. The truth about everything.

Now it would never happen, as things kept getting in the way.

_Perhaps when this is over… if we both still live…_

The thought left his scowl deepening.

“Alexius said he wanted to speak with only you to discuss the mages’ release, but he now says it has to be _only_ you,” Hawke told him, and that knot in Dorian’s stomach doubled, leaving him taking in a slow breath as he glanced at Callum, who stood frowning at Hawke contemplatively.

_Maker, if you are even considering this…_

The nerve of that rogue! Slipping beneath Dorian’s defenses, pushing his way into his life, endangering himself, disappearing through time… and now this. Basically handing himself over on a silver platter.

“I see,” Callum said finally, looking away. “Is that all?”

“Is that…?” Dorian glared at the rogue. “That is all you have to say? Alexius is trying to lure you into a very obvious trap, _alone_ and defenseless, and that is all you have to say about it? ‘I see?’

“I am not _defenseless_ ,” Callum said, mouth curling around the word. “I can handle myself in combat.”

“You will be _alone_ in an obvious trap,” Dorian stressed. “ _That_ is what matters here.”

_That is what we should be focusing on._

“I understand,” Callum said, “but again, I’m the only one who can do this because he’ll only speak with me.”

“Except he won’t be speaking,” Dorian muttered, tossing the rogue another glare even as Hawke looked back and forth between the two. “He will be killing you, or having you killed.”

_Either way, you die._

He narrowed his eyes.

_No; I will not allow it._

After everything… he would not allow Callum to fall now.

“I am going with you,” he said.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What? You can throw yourself to the wolves but I cannot?”

“Dorian – he asked for me specifically,” Callum tried to reason, frowning at him. “Not you.”

“I know Alexius,” Dorian said. “I need to be there to watch out for signs.”

“Signs?” Hawke asked.

Dorian glanced at him and nodded quickly. “Yes – signs he will attack, or have someone attack.”

Callum shook his head. “He said he wanted me alone.”

The phrasing left that knot in Dorian’s stomach tightening, nearly painful now as he glared at the rogue.

“That is not happening,” he said firmly. “You are not facing him alone.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“We go with Leliana’s plan,” Hawke said, causing the two of them to glance at him again as he stood in the doorway. It was perhaps rude to not invite him in, but they had a lot on their minds right now. “You meet with Alexius while her scouts do their job.”

“I am not letting him go in there alone,” Dorian said, as he was not going to go back on his words.

“I doubt Alexius will kick up much fuss if it is only the two of you,” Hawke said with a nod.

Dorian smiled faintly, thankful at least someone agreed with him.

“This is ridiculous,” Callum muttered.

“No,” Dorian said, looking at him and the way the dying sunlight softened his features even as it pronounced the shadows. “It is not.”

_The only thing that is ridiculous here is your casual disregard for your own life. Where is your survival instinct?_

Callum treated death strangely – like it was inevitable. In a way, it was; everyone eventually died. But he fought and moved and lived like he expected it to end any day, like he expected to die young, and there was a very large part of Dorian which was simply not okay with that.

“Fine,” Callum sighed, shaking his head. “Arguing with you is like smacking my head against a wall; you just give me a headache.”

Dorian nodded as Callum looked at Hawke.

“Thank you for stopping by,” he said amicably. “But I have a cold bath waiting for me.”

Hawke nodded, smiling. “Very well. Good night to the both of you.”

“You too,” Callum and Dorian said in unison, before they returned inside the cabin, quietly closing the door behind them.

“You don’t have to go with me,” Callum told the mage.

Dorian scowled. “I will not change my mind, no matter what you say. I am going with you. If you are going to throw yourself to the wolves, the least you could do is let me be there to patch you up.”

Callum smiled faintly, looking tired and older than his years. “Thank you,” he said softly, and Dorian returned the smile.

“Think nothing of it, my friend.”

“Why do you do that?”

Dorian frowned, confused. “Do what?”

“Call me that.”

“Call you what?”

“ ‘My friend’,” Callum said, deepening his voice a little to probably sound like Dorian’s, but the effort just left Dorian fighting the urge to laugh.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “I can stop.”

“It’s fine,” Callum said, waving a hand dismissively. “I just.. It sounds kind of formal. Then again, you’re kind of formal, so I guess it fits.”

“You believe _I_ am formal?”

“Have you not heard yourself talk?”

Dorian shook his head. “I assure you, I am not formal, nor am I proper. You have ruined me.”

Callum chuckled, eyes aglow with mirth. “I’m a bad influence.”

“The worst,” Dorian agreed with a smile of his own.

It was then his breath caught in his throat, as he had not realized the two were slowly stepping closer to each other. Now only mere inches separated them, their faces so close yet so far, Callum’s mouth aligned with his own despite his shortness, and Dorian tried to look elsewhere but his gaze kept coming right back to those soft pink lips. They looked squishy and soft and pliable, and he just wanted to touch them.

_Enough of that, Dorian. Keep your thoughts to yourself. Where has your self control gone?_

_Out the window, like you should be._

“Dorian,” Callum said softly, voice a mere breath of air, and it sent chills inching down Dorian’s spine, listening to that breathy cadence uttering his name so perfectly.

“Callum,” he said in response, smiling at the rogue. _“Amatus._ ”

He froze, then, the word slamming into him. He hadn’t even realized he’d been thinking it, let alone that it would slip into not only his thoughts but his speech as well. _Amatus_ was a precious title ascribed to someone very important to the person who spoke the word. It meant a lot in Tevinter. _My beloved._

_My beloved._

That was what he just called Callum.

His beloved.

_Fuck me… I am screwed._

Because now he knew exactly what that feeling was – that light, fluttery sensation he felt every time he saw Callum or thought about him.

_It is love. My beloved. I am…_

He closed his eyes, taking in a shallow breath as he stared at Callum, the sudden clarity making his breath catch and come out in quick, staggered pants.

Callum was so close. He could feel his breath ghosting across his skin.

“Dorian,” Callum said again, with a soft smile playing on those supple lips, and Dorian’s mouth was entirely too dry for him to say anything right now.

The realization that he called Callum his beloved, and that he _meant_ it – meant it on so deep a level he could barely comprehend what it meant – left him speechless and unable to do anything except stare.

And then Callum closed the distance between them, sealing his mouth over Dorian’s, and something inside of Dorian caved.


	26. Clouds on the Horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misunderstandings occur after Callum and Dorian kiss; Callum meets Alexius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not very sure about this chapter... I hope it sounds okay xD My head is on fire and has been off and on for 2 days now, so that sucks. Ugh. Wish they could find out what's wrong with me >.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Clouds on the Horizon

 

Hands reached, grabbed, pried. Fingers tugged, pulled, yanked. Mouths bit and sucked and pulled.

The feel of Callum so close to him left Dorian’s mind a haze. The fact this was not a dream seemed all the more breathtaking. This was not a dream; this was reality and Callum was very real, their bodies pressed together so tightly the lightest wrinkle in Dorian’s shirt was beginning to chaff against his skin, but he didn’t care.

_This is… amazing…_

“ _Amatus,_ ” he found himself whispering against the rogue’s mouth, feeling the rumble it earned him in return, a deep throaty sound escaping Callum’s lips, either a laugh or a grunt, but he felt it all the same. Felt it vibrate through his own mouth, setting his nerves ablaze in all the right ways.

_Amatus…_

The word felt so very foreign, and yet so right. How had he not seen it earlier?

But he knew what it meant now. What this was. What he felt.

_Every so often, even a blind man can see._

He could see, and feel.

He held tight to Callum as the rogue carefully led him toward the bedroom. His mind was a fog, but clarity seeped in when Callum pushed him down onto the bed. Instantly this felt wrong – unwanted, _terrible_ …

Any minute now he thought his father would come storming in, telling him how he suffered from this affliction and that he needed to fix it and get it under control. This brought with it memories of finding out his parents wished to use a blood ritual on him, to change him enough that he no longer had this _affliction_.

Dorian had quick, meaningless sex in the past.

This…

This felt different.

This was _wrong_.

_It’s not supposed to be this quick._

Instantly he was pushing Callum away, unable to stop himself from looking around just in case his father happened to materialize right in front of him, already yelling before his body fully formed.

Callum frowned at him even as he quickly moved away. Before Dorian could open his mouth, a shutter came down over Callum’s face, giving him this blank, void expression and a flat smile. “Sorry,” the rogue said. “I didn’t… I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Dorian shook his head. “You did absolutely nothing wrong.”

_You did everything right. That’s the problem._

Callum shrugged, stepping away from the bed, shoulders slumped and head bowed, carefully avoiding Dorian’s gaze. “I should probably take my bath now… or you will have wasted the water.”

“Callum,” Dorian said, frowning as the rogue moved to step away. His hand shot out and caught Callum’s wrist, keeping him in place for at least a moment longer. “Do not misunderstand me – _I liked it_. I just… need…”

“Time.”

“Something like that,” Dorian said regretfully.

He’d wasted so much time already it hurt to think about. It hurt even more to realize his father was still controlling his life, even though he’d been away from Tevinter for three years. No matter what he couldn’t get out of his father’s shadow, and Halward Pavus had wide shoulders. His shadow was quite large. And possibly filled with demons, since he thought blood magic was the way to go about ‘fixing’ his son.

_Father ruined me…_

Here he was, pushing Callum away when he was finally getting what he hadn’t known he wanted for so long…

And he couldn’t do it. Not yet.

“That’s okay,” Callum said. “I understand.”

“Look at me, please.”

Callum sighed and dragged his gaze from the floor to Dorian’s eyes.

He was happy to see the flat expression was gone, replaced with a pensive one. That was something, at least. Hopefully he knew Dorian was not rejecting him, but was just trying to slow things down a little. He knew Callum was under a lot of stress, and-

He swallowed thickly.

Something must have given him away because Callum frowned. “Dorian? What’s wrong? You look like someone stole your favorite puppy.”

“Dogs are mangy creatures,” Dorian replied, looking away.

“Insulting dogs now? What _will_ the Fereldans think?”

Dorian shrugged.

“Dorian – what’s wrong?”

“Why did you kiss me?”

Silence was his response.

Callum sighed. “I… don’t know. I just… felt… like it…”

“I see.”

_So you did this because you are stressed. Perhaps it has been a while for you, too. A heat of the moment occurrence, and nothing more._

But of course that was what happened. Just because he realized, finally, what Callum meant to him, did not mean the rogue felt the same.

_I am a fool._

“Dorian…”

“Say no more.”

“I hope…”

“It is fine.”

“It’s not,” Callum said quietly. “I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry. I just… with the flirting, and… and your questions… it was on my mind.”

“I understand.”

_You were stressed and knew I was at least attracted to you due to the flirting. You needed an outlet. I’m flattered you chose me, I suppose._

But somehow, he just felt so – empty, right now.

Empty because he called Callum _amatus_ and the rogue had absolutely no idea what that meant. Empty because it didn’t mean the same thing to Callum as it did to Dorian. Empty because his father ruined him.

_I am empty – a box without the items._

“Are we… okay?” Callum asked tentatively.

“Yes,” Dorian said, getting to his feet. “I am tired. I am going to bed.”

“Oh,” Callum said. “Okay… I’m sorry, Dorian. I… I don’t want to ruin things between us. It’s been going so well.”

_Yes, it has. Too well._

“We are fine,” Dorian said as he passed Callum to walk out of the room. “Perhaps you should take your bath.”

“Yeah,” Callum said quietly, voice trailing after Dorian as he rounded the corner into the other room. “You’re right.”

He lay down on his makeshift bed on the floor – which was a little more comfortable than it had been previously, with the new blankets – and stared up at the ceiling, listening to the fire crackle and pop.

Listening as, a few minutes later, he heard water splash and knew Callum was in the tub. Naked.

Naked, and he just kissed Dorian.

Because of stress, tension.

_It means nothing._

And that was the worst of all.

xXx

_What were you thinking?_

Callum lay awake that night in his bed, thinking about what he did. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to kiss Dorian, but the urge had been there for a while, he would admit. He just didn’t recognize the feeling because his sexual encounters had always been quick, and used to relieve stress before high risk jobs. Emry frowned upon his activities – but he wasn’t here, was he? He couldn’t frown at anything.

The urge had kicked in naturally, as he knew he would soon be walking into a trap. Perhaps that was why he kissed Dorian; he was the only one around he could even think about doing anything with, but that felt wrong, too. He didn’t want to use Dorian. He _liked_ Dorian. He would admit that now; he liked his personality and friendship more than his looks, though those were nice as well.

_He probably hates me now._

He really messed up this time. It was just so easy with Dorian that he forgot himself for just a moment, just a second, and gave into a more primal urge. He wasn’t sure why he did it; to relieve stress, because he _wanted_ to…

_I did want to._

He wanted to kiss Dorian.

Which was wrong, because there had been no real indication Dorian was even interested in him, save for the friendship and the flirting. But friends cared about each other; that was just friendship. The flirting… was for fun. It didn’t mean anything. If it meant something Dorian wouldn’t have pushed him away.

_I really messed up…_

He didn’t get sleep that night; instead he lay awake contemplating, and got up early. He dressed quietly in the barest light seeping through the window, the sun only just beginning to rise. Then he carefully crept out of his room, not wishing to wake Dorian, but the mage was already awake, sitting in the chair by the ashes of the fire which had once burned brightly and warmly.

Dorian glanced at him before quickly looking away, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Callum took in a slow breath and stepped a little further into the room.

“We need to talk,” he said quietly.

“What do you wish to discuss?” Dorian asked, voice as it had been last night – flat.

_Yeah… I really fucked up._

But that was what he did – he messed up. He always messed up. He _was_ messed up. He didn’t know how to have a functioning friendship or anything. Even Emry moved on after he disappeared. Did the elf even look for him, or was he happy to be rid of him? Callum couldn’t blame him if it was the latter; he probably messed up with Emry, too.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, before he could lose his nerve and just flee the cabin. That was what he did, after all; he ran away. Ran away from his past life, all his troubles, everything…

“Whatever for?”

“For kissing you,” he said, wincing even as he said the words. Dorian nodded, still not looking at him. “I… I don’t… I don’t want things to be awkward.”

“I have already told you, everything is fine.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.”

Finally, Dorian glanced at him. “You made a mistake; I forgive you.”

_Oh… right… a mistake… that’s what I did._

“I…”

“You regret it.”

“I… don’t know.”

Now Dorian frowned, gaze clearing somewhat from that flat, dull look he’d been giving him. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.”

“Elaborate.”

“I can’t.”

“Do you regret it or not?”

“I…”

“Was it only to relieve stress?”

“That’s what you think?”

Dorian shrugged.

Callum took in a slow breath. No wonder Dorian kept looking at him like that; he thought Callum was using him. The sad truth was Callum wasn’t entirely sure he was wrong. He was a little emotionally stunted; he never did anything with friends. It got awkward if he tried. He’d gotten used to ignoring whatever he felt for someone he worked with or knew as a friend or associate. Why, then, did he kiss Dorian, having this very specific set of rules?

“I don’t know why I kissed you,” he finally settled on saying, shoulders slumping somewhat. “I don’t know what to tell you. I… like you.”

“You like me,” Dorian repeated.

“Yes.”

“As a friend.”

Callum shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s… confusing.”

“What do you wish to happen?”

“I don’t know,” Callum said, frowning. “I just… wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have forced myself on you.”

“You did not force yourself on me,” Dorian said with a scowl. It was the most normal expression he’d worn since last night.

“I did. You didn’t want it.”

“I wanted it,” Dorian said quietly, and then quickly lowered his gaze, frowning.

“You… did?” Callum asked, frown deepening. “But you…”

“I thought you did it because you were stressed – as an outlet.”

_Oh..._

“I won’t lie and say that’s not part of it,” Callum said, watching Dorian nod and lower his gaze further, looking wounded. Callum hated that expression and wished to wipe it away. “But I do like you. I don’t… I don’t usually get with friends, you know? Not even if I’m stressed. But with you… I couldn’t resist.”

“So… you like me?”

“Of course I do,” Callum sighed, shaking his head as he looked away. “How could I not? But I… if… I mean, I would want it to mean more. If we did do anything. I mean.”

It was silent for a moment, then he heard movement. When he looked back at the mage, Dorian was standing in front of him with a soft smile playing on his lips, accentuated by the mustache. The mustache which, according to last night, was rather soft.

“I would like that,” Dorian said quietly.

“Like what?” Callum asked.

“For it to mean more.”

Callum smiled weakly. “Oh?”

“Yes,” Dorian said. “I don’t want to rush things, if… if you want to do something.”

“Me neither,” Callum admitted. “So you like me?”

“Of course,” Dorian echoed. “How could I not?”

All thoughts of friendship fled his mind when Dorian leaned forward and closed the distance between them.

xXx

It was decided they would wait a little longer to go to Redcliffe Castle; Leliana needed to brief her scouts and get them into position safely before they could move forward. This was all just a precaution, of course; Alexius might not have anything planned and only wished to speak with the Herald of Andraste.

_Yeah… like that’s going to happen._

In the meantime, Hawke, Fenris, Varric and Cassandra went to the Storm Coast to search for the Bull’s Chargers. With the trip to Redcliffe delayed for at least a few days, it left Dorian and Callum with spare time on their hands.

Callum had never been in a meaningful relationship in his life; he had no idea what he was supposed to do if it wasn’t about sex. He wasn’t even all that familiar with friendship, as his only real friend other than Dorian had been Emry. Ever since kissing Dorian, and then having Dorian kiss him the following morning, things seemed less tense between them, and yet still awkward. Awkward because he’d never in a relationship before; he had no idea how he was supposed to act.

But Dorian was just as lost, it seemed, so perhaps he wasn’t alone in that regard.

The two shared a bed last night – purely for sleeping. Callum found he slept better when he wasn’t alone, surrounded by only his thoughts and the mark on his hand. They woke this morning content and well rested, but neither were certain what to do. They shared a hesitant kiss before getting ready for the day, and then went about their daily activities since they’d been back in Haven.

Callum trained with Cullen’s troops, though he was better than a lot of them, having trained since he was very young to use a blade and avoid enemy attacks. Dorian, meanwhile, worked with Solas to discover what he could about the mark on Callum’s hand, though the rogue doubted there would be any progress in that regard. He doubted he’d ever know where this mark came from, or reclaim those memories he lost at the Conclave.

They didn’t see each other for most of the day. Callum had mixed feelings about this. He liked spending time with Dorian, but now he had to worry about how to act because he’d never even come close to having a relationship before. A relationship that started out as friendship. If this fell apart it could ruin their friendship.

The knot which formed in his stomach at the thought remained there for the second half of the day, and he missed dinner with Dorian, throwing himself into his training and giving others tips on what they were doing wrong and how to fix it. After that he sharpened his daggers and caught a quick bite to eat in the tavern, chatting briefly with Sera. He didn’t know much about Sera but he liked her; she was usually joking around and was rather blunt about everything. He could see himself getting along with her easily enough.

After that he finally returned to his cabin and found Dorian sitting in the first room next to the fire, reading a book. Callum smiled at the scene; Dorian was such a bookworm, but then that was part of what he loved about him.

He frowned, smile slipping away just as Dorian looked over at him.

“Is something amiss?” Dorian asked, carefully marking his place in the book before closing it.

Callum shook his head. “No, just thinking. It’s been a long day.”

“So it has,” Dorian said.

Callum took in a slow breath, fighting the urge to wipe his palms on his pants.

_You are not nervous; this is only Dorian._

Except that didn’t help and only made it worse, because this was _Dorian_ , and he was going to mess everything up because that was what he always did.

And he didn’t want to ruin this.

“I’ve never been in a relationship,” he blurted, and then his eyes widened once he realized what he said. Dorian quirked a brow but otherwise remained silent, letting him speak, except Callum wasn’t sure what to say. “I just, um… I’ve never been in one, so… I don’t… I’ve never been with a friend before. How does this work?”

“What, exactly, makes you think I know?” Dorian asked with a hint of a smirk on his face.

Callum scowled. “Surely you got around in Tevinter.”

“I did not ‘get around’ much, as you say. I have never been in a relationship either.”

“Oh. So we’re both running blind, then.” He took in a breath. “Good to know.”

By this point Dorian had abandoned his book and gotten to his feet. Slowly the mage approached him, and Callum noticed the apprehension in Dorian’s gaze for the first time. He wasn’t sure how to do this either, so at least he wasn’t alone in that regard, but he still worried.

“I don’t want to ruin this,” he said quietly.

“Then you won’t,” Dorian told him.

Callum shook his head, sighing. “I’m not… good, at stuff like this.”

“So we shall learn.”

He made it sound so easy, with all that formal wording of his.

Callum smirked. “So we’ll take it one step at a time.”

“That is generally how one learns to walk, yes.”

Callum rolled his eyes even as Dorian smirked at him. “Glad I amuse you.”

“You always amuse me.”

The words were sincere rather than joking, and Callum swallowed thickly. He had no real reason for his heart to be racing as it was, pulse pounding loudly in his ears, but that was what happened nevertheless. He wasn’t under attack; he should have been fine. And yet he was nervous and he wasn’t used to being nervous.

Things were easier when he hadn’t kissed Dorian; it was much easier to pretend everything was normal then. Now, though…

_But that’s okay._

He wouldn’t trade it for anything. He didn’t regret his actions. It only brought them closer together.

“I do hope you intend to kiss me,” Dorian said, taking him from his thoughts, “since you keep staring at me so intently.”

Callum looked away. “Sorry.”

“There is no need to apologize, _amatus_.”

His gaze snapped back to Dorian. “You keep saying that,” he said. “Calling me that. What’s it mean?”

Dorian’s face darkened. “Nothing. It is merely a word, like friend.”

“So you’re _still_ calling me that? ‘My friend’?”

Dorian shrugged though his cheeks were still red. “Something like that, yes.”

Callum shook his head. “I don’t believe you.”

“Would I lie to you?”

“I don’t know,” he said, smirking, “ _would you_?”

Dorian looked back at him, scowling. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

Callum laughed; Dorian sounded like a petulant child not getting his way. He took pity on the mage and reached out for his wrist, carefully pulling Dorian closer. His pulse raced further; he wouldn’t be surprised if Dorian could hear it, how close they were. Dorian’s eyes met his own, and their lips connected in a light touch.

Callum had never been one for kissing; it was too intimate for him. Sex was fine, but there was never any reason to kiss someone. He did it to get into the mood as his bedmates liked it sometimes, but it never meant anything to him.

Now, though…

_It’s different._

It was so much different. So different with Dorian.

There was a knock on the door then. Callum scowled and was intent on ignoring it until the knocking became more persistent.

“One bloody day,” he muttered, reluctantly pulling away from Dorian and his warmth, before rounding toward the door. “One blood day, that’s all I ask for.”

He grabbed the knob and yanked the door open, glaring at whoever stood there. Then he took in a breath and frowned when he realized it was Cassandra. She looked troubled, a frown of her own on her face, though that might have been her normal expression. He doubted he’d ever really seen her smile.

“What is it?” he asked, a knot in his stomach. No one ever stopped by for good news. They stopped by just to chat.

Dorian approached behind him. A chill crawled up Callum’s spine. Dorian was so close and yet so far and right now all he could taste was the mage’s sweet mouth.

“There are reports that Alexius is threatening to back out of our deal if you do not meet with him immediately,” she said reluctantly.

Callum frowned. “Back out how?”

“He will not negotiate the mages’ release with us if you do not speak to him within the next few days. As it takes a few days to get there, we need to leave as soon as possible.”

“But… I thought we were waiting?” Callum asked, confused.

They were supposed to be waiting for Hawke to return, and for Leliana’s scouts to get into position.

“Leliana’s scouts are in position, though not securely,” Cassandra said as though reading his thoughts. “If they are found out, this meeting will be compromised.”

“Will they be found out?”

Cassandra hesitated. “Leliana is uncertain, but believes her scouts will do what’s needed to stay where they are until we arrive. But we must leave immediately.”

“No,” Dorian said from behind him, and Callum glanced over his shoulder to find the mage scowling at them.

“Dorian,” he started.

“No,” Dorian repeated firmly. “The scouts are not ready and Hawke is not here. Anything could go wrong.”

That was very true, but they needed the mages, and Alexius seemed like the type who would follow through on his word of backing out if Callum did not do as asked. He would do it out of spite alone; he knew they wanted the mages, and he knew how to use them as leverage.

“We need the mages,” Callum said.

“We can get the Templars.”

Callum frowned. “Dorian, you hate Templars,” he said slowly.

“I do not _hate_ them; I don’t _care_ for them. As Cullen and Fenris said, they could be conscripted just as easily, it just might take a little longer.”

Dorian did have a point, but really even if they didn’t use the mages, they still needed to be set free. They only went to Alexius because they didn’t think they had any other option, and Alexius used time travel, or time manipulation, to his advantage to make Fiona forget speaking with them.

“We need the mages,” Callum repeated before glancing back at Cassandra, feeling the heat of Dorian’s glare on the back of his neck. “When do we leave?”

“Within the hour,” Cassandra told him. “I am sorry to inform you so late, but the news only arrived a short time ago.”

“Let me get ready.”

Cassandra nodded, bid him farewell, and then took her leave. Callum sighed and closed the door, slowly turning to face Dorian.

“This is crazy,” Dorian told him instantly, standing there with his arms folded across his chest, eyes narrowed into an angry glare.

“I know,” he said.

“You’re crazy.”

“I know.”

“Why do this?”

“Even if we can’t get the mages to join us, they should at least be free from Alexius. He wants them only as slaves. And if he’s working for the Venatori… you know that’s not good, Dorian,” he tried to reason, but already Dorian was shaking his head.

“This is a trap.”

“I know.”

“He will kill you,” Dorian said softly, glare dying away as he carefully lowered his gaze toward the ground.

Callum took in a slow breath. “He’ll try, but he won’t succeed.”

“You do not know that.”

“That’s what you’re here for, right? To be my back-up?”

Dorian nodded slowly. “I don’t like this.”

“I know you don’t; I don’t either. But what other choice do we have, really? We need this mark working as quickly as possible.”

Things were worsening every day, not only with the mage-templar war but with the demons as well. Combined they were so much worse. This needed to end as quickly as possible – with the demons, at least – and the only way to make that happen was to close the Breach for good, and that required a lot of magic.

Magic he wasn’t even supposed to be able to harness, as he was not a mage, and yet this mark thought otherwise. It needed the power, the focus.

_What have I become…_

“At the first sign of trouble, we are leaving,” Dorian finally relented. “The _first_ sign. Do you understand?”

Callum nodded.

Dorian released a slow breath, shoulders drooping in defeat. “We will have to be careful.”

“We will be,” Callum assured him quietly.

“Do not take any chances.”

“I won’t as long as you don’t.”

Dorian scowled, looking at him. “You are the one who attracts trouble, not me.”

“Yes, but you’ll be there with me, so you might get sucked into the trouble vortex.”

“I suppose that’s always a possibility.”

“So we’ll both be careful, and watch each other’s backs,” Callum said, smiling. “What could go wrong?”

xXx

Apparently a lot could go wrong.

_Idiot. Why did you ask that?_

Callum knew it was going to be a bad day when, the day they arrived at Redcliffe Castle, it was storming, rain pouring heavily onto the ground in thick drops. With the chill in the air, and the hidden sunlight, he just knew this was going to be a bad day before they even stepped foot near the castle.

The guards let him and Dorian in through the main gate, but stopped them before they could enter the castle.

“He stays here,” the guard said, gesturing at Dorian. “Alexius only wants to speak with the Herald.”

“If he goes, I go,” Dorian said firmly. “Or we can take our business elsewhere.”

“Alexius won’t be pleased.”

“He’s not a happy person anyway,” Callum said. “Dorian has assigned himself my bodyguard, you see; he can be a bit too good at the job sometimes. He comes with me everywhere, like a little puppy.”

Dorian shot him a scowl and Callum fought the urge to smirk at the thought of Dorian as a puppy. His puppy.

The guard eyed them briefly, and then sighed and nodded, moving aside to allow them entrance. “Very well.”

“Thank you,” Callum said as cheerfully as he could, walking up the steps and through the large doors, into the castle with Dorian right behind him.

They were lead through a few rooms and into a long hallway. At the end of it sat Alexius on a throne of sorts. He peered down at them and frowned before he rose to his feet.

“Dorian?” he asked, confused.

“Hello,” Dorian said with a small wave. “It’s been a while, Alexius.”

“I should have known you would be with the Herald.”

Callum clapped his hands together. “Alright! So, let’s discuss the mages. Although, I must warn you, I am not the Inquisitor. You should be speaking with Hawke.”

“I have spoken with your Hawke. Now I want to speak with you.”

“Why the Herald?” Fiona asked, standing off to the side and wringing her hands nervously, watching the scene unfold. There was a long line of guards on either side of the hallway, too. Callum kept a close eye on them.

“Answer the nice lady,” Callum said. “Why speak to me when I don’t have any authority?”

“You are the Herald of Andraste,” Alexius said. “You have plenty of authority.”

“Father,” came a voice from behind Alexius’ chair, in the shadows. Felix entered the light and stood at his father’s side, frowning down at him. “Perhaps this would be more productive with Hawke.”

“I wish to speak with the Herald,” Alexius said firmly.

_Yeah… not a good sign._

“Well, I’m here,” Callum said. “I rushed all the way here because that’s what you wanted. Now – talk.”


	27. Back to the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negotiations with Alexius take a turn for the bizarre when the future becomes their present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title says it all; you know what chapter this is. 
> 
> Quick note: I only have Cassandra here because Callum hasn't met Bull yet, and it was said they were taking a limited number of people (i.e. himself and Dorian) into the castle. So... yeah xD Sorry if bits seem rushed, I didn't want to linger on everything as I'm sure you've all played through this and know what happens and I didn't want to rehash everything.
> 
> Also - I wasn't playing through this part when writing this, as I have company, so this is mostly from memory. Therefore things are a little different xD Hope it sounds okay, though!

Chapter Twenty-Six: Back to the Future

 

“Very well,” Alexius said calmly. He had this deep tone of voice that always left Dorian feeling relaxed, if not a little sleepy. Felix thankfully hadn’t acquired that voice from his father. Instead he took after his mother – kind eyes, smooth voice, trustworthy personality. Dorian once thought Alexius was trustworthy, too – now he knew otherwise.

“Are you going to offer me a seat?” Callum inquired, much to Dorian’s dismay. “A beverage? Anything? What a terrible host.”

Alexius narrowed his eyes even as he smirked. “Under different circumstances, I believe we could have been friends, you and I.”

Callum shook his head even as Dorian tensed, recognizing that tone of Alexius’ voice. He quickly looked around as Callum answered. “Not likely, I’m afraid. See – I would never lure you to my castle in the guise of negotiations when in reality it’s a trap.”

_Antagonizing him is not wise, you fool._

If he antagonized him too much and Leliana’s scouts were not here, that would be the end for them both. Dorian refused to let either of them die here.

The guards remained standing and did not quite look like Leliana’s scouts. Perhaps they had been discovered. If that was the case, they were vastly outnumbered, with only the two of them here. Perhaps Felix would join them in the fight, and maybe even Fiona, but Grand Enchanter or not, that only left them with four against a vast amount of guards and Alexius himself, who was a very powerful magister with experience under his belt.

At Callum’s words, Alexius’ eyes narrowed into thin slits, and Dorian was briefly reminded of a snake, coiled to strike. Alexius got to his feet, shaking his head before he looked at Felix.

“Felix,” he said softly. “You warned them? I should have known.”

Felix took in a slow breath but stood firmly under his father’s accusatory gaze. “Working with the Venatori is not right, Father.”

Dorian was proud of him for standing up to his father. He didn’t have the courage to do so to his own, which made him regretful, and a touch envious of Felix. He did not envy him standing beneath that intense glare Alexius could have, though.

Instead he was more worried about the way Alexius sighed and turned to face Callum again.

“It matters not. You are a _mistake_.”

“A mistake,” Callum repeated slowly.

“You ruined what was supposed to happen.”

“And what was supposed to happen with the Breach?”

It was a good question, but all Dorian could focus on was the semi-angry look on Alexius’ face, and what it meant. He tried to ready himself in case Leliana’s agents were not in place.

“You sullied it with your presence. Venatori – kill him.”

 _No_.

It was the moment he dreaded and yet knew would happen. The moment he learned Alexius wished to speak with Callum instead of Hawke, he knew this was a trap and Alexius wanted to either capture or kill the rogue, though why was still a mystery.

Dorian growled and moved to attack first but then looked over as a guard gurgled. Half of the guards took out the other half, and he knew Leliana’s scouts came through for them. Relief flowed through him as he faced Alexius again. All he had left to fight was Alexius, and he and Callum could probably take him down, or at least get him to surrender, especially if Felix helped.

What he was not prepared for, though, was the amulet Alexius pulled out from under his robes, tied to a chain around his neck.

“You should never have existed,” Alexius spat distastefully despite the fact his guards, members of the Venatori, were killed. The words left a foul taste in Dorian’s mouth as he watched the amulet begin to twitch to life, a strange light surrounding it.

_He’s going to go back and kill him._

Perhaps erase him completely from the timeline; he would never have existed, and Dorian would never have met him.

Something snapped.

“ _No!_ ” he cried, running forward, pulse racing with dread as Callum stood there staring at the amulet, having no real way to defend himself against time magic.

He lost him to time once already.

_I will not allow it!_

Dorian had only very little knowledge about time magic; they only theorized about it and couldn’t get it to work – but nevertheless he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ , allow this to happen, and he threw a hand out as he made it to Callum’s side, hoping a mixture of his own magic would help, would do _something_. He reached for Callum with his free hand, hoping to somehow pull him away from danger – _we just got together, dammit, I’m not losing you_ now – but as soon as his hand went to touch the rogue’s shoulder, his magic mixed with the time magic as he knew it would. A larger crackling sound was created, and a larger pool of light which enveloped them both, swallowing them through a portal.

Reality bent and fragmented around him, leaving him with this oddly disorientating feeling as though he had been spun in circles too many times, bile acidic in his throat. He blinked, overcome by nausea, and suddenly he found himself in a dark room surrounded by cells. This was not the room they had originally been in and he could remember no part of the castle appearing like this that he had seen. Perhaps they transported not only through time but location as well. He had once feared that would happen with the blood mage, but maybe that particular time amulet was out of power – or perhaps this amulet was wildly unstable and had yet to be perfected.

Either way it didn’t really matter.

“Callum?”

He spun in a circle, his fingers closing on air, the ghost that had been Callum gone from his sight, gone from his touch the second he traveled through the portal. Terror gripped him tightly, a cold hand around his heart as he spun in a wide circle, looking into every little crevice the room had to offer, but soon realized he was alone.

“Callum?” he called again, but the breath wasn’t behind the name because he already knew Callum was not here.

_Did I fail?_

Did he fail in stopping Alexius’ attempt at eradicating Callum entirely? Panic was an odd feeling, and yet like an old friend when it concerned Callum. He had been worried about him entirely too often since they had known each other; even more now that they were together. Now that they kissed and he realized what the rogue meant to him. Realized he was _amatus_.

_Where are you?_

He didn’t know what to do, his mind lost in a sea of panic quickly mingling with despair in a dance he never wanted. He rechecked every little nook of the room, the parts covered in shadows, checked the ground for a body, anything, but found nothing yet again. He was indeed alone, and he wasn’t supposed to be.

He didn’t go through that portal alone; he should not be here alone.

Callum was supposed to be next to him.

Callum was supposed to be _with_ him.

Voices echoed outside the door to the small room. Dorian took in a breath, praying it was Callum, but knew in his heart it wasn’t. He’d know Callum’s voice anywhere, after all; and this was not his voice, but two voices mixing together, strangers approaching. The door opened and the two people stood there staring at him.

“Where in the Void did he come from?” one of them asked.

The other shook their head and surged forward, sword drawn.

Fueled by the nasty concoction that was panic mixed with despair, he let his rage consume him as he flung a fireball at his attackers and then quickly followed it up with a small lightning storm which quickly consumed them. They screamed but stood even through the fire and lightning, though wounded they were. Dorian stared at them for a moment, uncertain as to how they were standing, but then noticed the faint red glow they had about them. He hadn’t noticed before, too consumed with this _feeling_ he didn’t quite understand, couldn’t focus on right now, couldn’t-

The daggers sinking into the back of one of his attackers left him stunned. The body dropped to the ground and then a dagger sliced cleanly across the second man’s throat, easily silencing him save for his bloody death gurgles. Dorian didn’t care about that, didn’t care about his attackers, because all he could see was-

“Callum,” he breathed, relief ebbing through him, cool ice over raw, aching wounds. He was at the rogue’s side in one quick movement, unable to stop himself from enveloping him in a quick hug, feeling the haze in his mind finally disperse, allowing him clarity of thought.

 _You’re alive. You’re alive,_ amatus _._

“Dorian,” Callum said breathily. “I wasn’t sure… I mean… I couldn’t find you.”

“Nor I you,” Dorian told him, finally stable enough to pull away. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Callum said with a nod as Dorian released him. “You?”

“I am fine as well,” Dorian replied.

_Now that I know you live, I am fine._

“What’s with that red glow of theirs?” Callum asked, looking at the dead men on the ground. Dorian took in a breath and focused on them, frowning.

“I don’t know,” he said truthfully.

“What happened?”

“I believe we were transported through time. You know, one leap forward in time would be enough for most people, but you like to take it one step further.”

Callum scowled at him. “I bloody hate time travel. To the Void with it.” He sighed and shook his head. “What do we do now?”

“If we can find Alexius and the amulet, if it still exists, I might be able to take us back to when we left,” Dorian said somewhat uncertainly.

He and Alexius theorized about it but never got it to work, so he wasn’t certain he could reverse it, but he would definitely try.

“Did we go forward or backward, and how far?” Callum asked, looking uneasy.

This was his second travel through time, after all; if Dorian’s own disorientating experience was anything to go by, he could only imagine what Callum felt right now.

“I do not know,” Dorian said, frowning. “I believe forward, but I do not know how far.”

The attackers seemed normal enough, so perhaps not that far into the future. Well, save for the red glow they had. But he couldn’t remember that from history, so he was going to guess they went forward.

“Have I mentioned I hate time travel?”

Dorian smiled weakly. “Yes, you might have mentioned it once.”

Callum sighed, shaking his head. “Let’s find a way out of here, then.”

xXx

_Bloody time travel._

Callum couldn’t believe this happened _again_. When he went to Redcliffe Castle to meet Alexius, he expected to be attacked, but not to be flung through time _again_. Once was enough for him, thanks very much. Now Dorian was stuck here with him, but perhaps that made this even the slightest bit bearable. If he wound up here alone he would have no way to get back, and he’d probably drive himself mad, being trapped in a future he didn’t understand.

It was just as disorientating as it was when that blood mage took him seven months into the future. Except this time he wound up in a different location as well as another time, and he knew Dorian was around somewhere. Or, rather, he hoped he was. A part of him also hoped Dorian didn’t get caught in the time portal and wasn’t teleported with him. Another part had just hoped Dorian was alive.

Thankfully he found the mage rather quickly.

Currently they were searching the rest of the cells on the upper level, crossing an odd bridge-like structure that seemed to have an endless bottom if one should fall off the sides. Callum was never a fan of heights despite his fondness for climbing up cliffsides. A high drop he could handle just fine; an endless drop where he couldn’t see the bottom was another matter entirely. It was the same reason he didn’t much care for the ocean.

After killing the guard stationed at a doorway along the bridge with no bottom in sight, they went down another set of stairs toward more cells. At this point Callum was mostly following Dorian; he had never been in Recliffe Castle before, save for right now, so he did not know his way around. Dorian seemed confused as well, though, so perhaps it was the blind leading the blind.

_Just great. Could anything else go wrong?_

He should have known by now that it could _always_ get worse.

“Cassandra?” he asked, shocked upon noticing the Seeker standing in a cell at the end of the large room. She spun around at the sound of her name, her brown eyes widening greatly at the sight of him and Dorian.

“You are alive,” she said incredulously. “Impossible. I saw you die. This is a trick.”

“I didn’t die,” he said, frowning.

“Alexius attacked you with some kind of amulet.”

“How do you even know? You weren’t there.”

“I was in the shadows,” she said. “I snuck in with Leliana after her agents cleared the way. I arrived just in time to see you die. Only scorch marks on the ground were left behind.”

A knot formed in his stomach. The thought that the scorch mark could have been him left his stomach churning, bile rising in his throat. After the fire which covered up his family’s murder, he had a love-hate relationship with fire. It served its purpose, but to think of himself as just a scorch mark…

He wasn’t aware his fingers were moving until he’d picked the lock to Cassandra’s cell and the cell door swung open, nearly smacking him in the face. He took in a breath to center himself and smiled weakly at the Seeker as she stepped out of the cell.

“Well, we didn’t die,” he said. “We were transported into the future. How, um… how long has it been, exactly?”

“A year,” she said despondently.

“A year,” he repeated, sharing a quick look with Dorian. “What has happened?”

“A demon army,” she said gravely.

“A demon… army,” Callum echoed, attempting to comprehend what she was saying.

“Well, that can’t be good,” Dorian sighed. “And just when I was staring to grow fond of all these dark shadows.”

“Where is Alexius?” Callum asked.

“It is not Alexius you need to worry about,” Cassandra told him. “It is his Elder One.”

“Elder One,” Dorian repeated, frown evident in his voice.

“Explain what you mean,” Callum told the Seeker.

“The Elder One killed the Empress of Orlais,” she said. “In the chaos that followed, he invaded the south with his demon army and red lyrium.”

“Red lyrium,” Dorian hummed. “Fascinating. That’s what was wrong with those men, I take it?”

“And you,” Callum said, acknowledging Cassandra’s own red glow. At first he thought it was just a glare from the cell she was in, since there was some kind of red growth along the wall, but now he could see that it was around her specifically.

“Yes. Once you are around it for a while, it consumes you, and you become it. It is a vicious cycle, and it is how they seem to have an endless supply of it,” she told him matter-of-factly, expression grave, a new scar present along her forehead. “The Elder One uses it to fuel his demon army.”

“Demons,” Callum muttered, shaking his head, “great.”

“We should not linger here,” Dorian cautioned.

“You’re right, we should keep moving.” He looked back at Cassandra. “If we find Alexius and the time amulet, we might be able to get back to the moment we disappeared, and stop this from happening.”

Her eyes widened briefly. “Yes, we must return you.”

“Hard to believe everything fell apart just because I vanished,” he sighed, shaking his head. It was unthinkable that he could be so important.

“You were our only means of countering the Elder One and the Breach,” Cassandra said flatly. “Without you, the Elder One was left unchallenged.”

_Unchallenged, huh?_

“I just close rifts,” he said slowly, frowning. “I’m not ‘challenging’ anyone.”

She shook her head. “We must get the time amulet. Alexius will be in the grand hall, where you disappeared.”

“Why did we not wind up there?” Callum asked, looking at Dorian, who shrugged.

“The time magic he is using is wildly unstable,” he said. “Other than that, I do not know.”

Callum shrugged; it didn’t really matter. They needed to get moving.

“Can you lead the way?” he asked Cassandra.

She nodded firmly, eyes narrowed into steely determination. “Let us go.”

xXx

“Maker,” Callum breathed when they entered a room and found Leliana. He hadn’t even known Leliana was here. She was being tortured, her screams bringing the trio to the room she was in. Upon entering, it distracted her torturer enough that he let his guard down, and she twisted up enough to wrap her legs around his neck and squeeze until he dropped. Then she hung there from her wrists until Callum hurried over and freed her.

“You’re alive,” she said with a surprisingly flat tone. He would admit he didn’t know her very well, as he mostly spoke with Cullen and Cassandra, but he knew she liked to joke around once a while, and never sounded so flat. Her face was also scarred and ragged, like she hadn’t slept in the past year.

“Where is Alexius?” he asked softly. “We need the time amulet to get back to when we disappeared.”

They would only be able to stop this from happening – to everyone and to her – if they could get their hands on that time amulet and could get it to work. That began with finding Alexius.

“He is not far,” she said, leading the way out of the room.

“Aren’t you going to ask what happened?” Dorian asked.

“It doesn’t matter. You are here now.”

She was surprisingly accepting of everything. Then again, given her situation… Callum would be hopeful for a sign of anything, too. She knew, on some level, that the only way to stop this was for them to go back in time to the point they left.

As they traveled, Dorian peppered Leliana with questions – about her sudden antagonism when it concerned him, Felix’s condition and whereabouts, what this timeline was like – but she answers only shortly and vaguely. Eventually Dorian stopped asking.

They fought many mages and demons whilst searching for Alexius. Callum found himself continuously closing rifts; it was exhausting and his hand and arm kept throbbing, but he pushed forward anyway. By the time they came across the large doors leading into where Alexius was supposed to be, he thought he could sleep for a year.

Instead they were left searching for shards of red lyrium to unlock the massive doors. That meant more fighting, both with demons and mages. A demon army. It was hard to fathom. There were so many rifts and the sky, as they passed outside briefly, was nothing but an endless dark green, filled with shadows. It left chills inching down Callum’s spine just looking at it, let alone thinking about what it meant.

The Breach was caused for a reason, by someone. By the Elder One, whoever or whatever that was. He had so many questions but sadly, no answers. All he could do was keep moving forward. They snuck past as many enemies as they could, all of them a bit worn out, with Cassandra glowing a little brighter. Leliana did not seem to be emitting that strange red glow.

Occasionally he and Dorian would exchange quick looks, but otherwise they moved silently and purposefully. After closing a few more rifts – and his hand was ablaze at this point, leaving him barely able to hold his dagger in his left hand – and fighting more demons and mages, they managed to collect enough shards to finally open the door. That meant backtracking and attempting to sneak past those they successfully avoided previously.

In the end, by the time the door opened and they entered to find Alexius waiting for them, Callum was too tired to care about trivial talk.

“I knew you would show up,” Alexius sighed as he stood from the seat at the end of the hallway. “I knew I hadn’t killed you. I just didn’t know when you would appear.”

“Well, I’m here now,” Callum said, scowling. “How could you let this happen? To the world?”

He shook his head. “You would not understand.”

“Try me,” he said through clenched teeth, attempting to be diplomatic even though all he wanted to right now was take the amulet, return to his time and return to Haven with Dorian, and sleep for at least a week. This whole experience was mind-numbing.

“I did this for my son.”

“Where is Felix?” Dorian asked.

At that moment they realized why Leliana had been so quiet. She had snuck away from them, blending in with the shadows since was the spymaster back at Haven, and now she stood just off to the side of Alexius, holding a dagger to the throat of a semi-familiar person.

“No,” Alexius said, turning to face her, eyes wide, “don’t hurt my son.”

“ _That’s_ Felix?” Dorian gasped, horrified by the shell that was once Felix. He had this dead, thousand-yard stare as he all but hung limply in Leliana’s grip, clearly alive due to the shallow breaths, but there was more to living than being alive. He was dead in everything but body.

“What did you do to him?” Callum spat, glaring at Alexius.

“I saved him,” Alexius said, still watching Leliana. “Please, let him go. I will do whatever you ask.”

Leliana narrowed her eyes.

“We want the time amulet,” Callum said.

“What good will that do? You cannot stop this.”

“I can try.”

Callum watched as though in slow motion as Leliana drew her dagger across Felix’s throat, blood spurting from the wound. He fell to the ground in a motionless heap as she released him, never giving up a fight, never blinking or acknowledging what happened.

_He’s been dead for a while. At least, his spirit has. His body remains._

Except that would die now, too.

“ _No_!” Alexius shouted, lunging forward, but it was too late for his son.

A part of Callum felt pity for this man. He clearly did this for his son. If nothing else, he was at least a devoted father, which was more than a lot of people could say. He truly cared for his son, enough to ruin the world just to keep his shell alive.

Another part of Callum was happy Felix was dead now; living that way, a shell of his former self, was no way to live. He was strangely happy Leliana at least put him out of his misery. Now he could move on in peace.

He glanced at Dorian, who stared at the scene before them. Dorian and Felix were friends; it must have been hard for the mage to see his friend like that, and then to see him killed…

He didn’t have time to think about it, though, as Alexius exploded in a fit of rage, time magic unraveling around him in random areas. Cassandra moved slowly as she tried to get out of the way, trapped in one of the areas which seemed to slow time down. Leliana backtracked a little too quickly through yet another spot which seemed to speed time up.

Interesting, but Callum was tired of all this time magic. It never should have existed in the first place. If it didn’t exist his family might still be alive, and he wouldn’t be here now.

Alexius was a raging ball of despair and fury, lashing out and teleporting with a flutter of pages to reappear a few feet away, already attacking them viciously. He was powerful. Callum wondered if it was because of the red lyrium – perhaps Alexius was using it, too – or because of the time amulet, or just because Alexius had a lot of experience. Either way he knew this fight would be tought.

When a rift appeared in the center of the room and demons poured out of it, he cursed under his breath, his hand throbbing in protest to the intrusion, the green glow momentarily giving away his position. He spun around the incoming swipe from one of those tall demons which reminded him of a mutated gecko or frog of some kind. The clawed hands caught air instead of his side which had been the intended target. He ducked and slashed with his daggers, his grip on his left dagger slightly weaker than the right, but he fought through the pain and fatigue, letting adrenaline pump through him. All that mattered was surviving and getting the time amulet from Alexius.

He lost sight of Dorian in the chaos. A cold chill inched up his spine, leaving him shivering as dread began to consume him the longer he looked around and couldn’t find the mage. Finally he spotted him, on the far side of the room in a dark corner, flinging spells at the wraiths and demons slipping from the rift. Callum took in a breath and made sure the enemies around him were dead or distracted before he raised his hand, a thin green trail leading from his palm to the rift.

After it charged – it felt like raw adrenaline suddenly shot into his veins – the green shards around the rift exploded, stunning the remaining enemies. He took a moment to collect himself and while Cassandra and Leliana finished off the demons, he looked around for Alexius and found him across the room, away from all of them, doing something that involved a barrier. Was he healing himself?

Callum growled and stomped in the direction of the magister when Dorian caught his arm, quickly turning him back around.

“Rift first, _amatus_ ,” Dorian said. “Then fighting.”

He smirked despite himself and realized the last of the demons were finally dead, and all he had to do now was close the rift. Then they could focus again on Alexius. He lifted his hand, pain shooting up his wrist like fire igniting along his nerves, and he barely managed to contain the wince and quick rush of breath. Dorian, standing as close as he was with his hand still on Callum’s arm, noticed immediately. His grip on Callum’s arm tightened briefly, a sign that he was there. Callum felt oddly thankful for that small bit of comfort. Funny how Dorian could make him so sentimental.

He fought the scowl at the thought.

_I am not sentimental._

Finally finished with the rift they all turned their focus to Alexius.

xXx

Fighting Alexius was not as satisfying as Callum thought it would be. Instead it was rather anti-climactic. After a fierce, rage-filled battle, Alexius was finally defeated. Callum wasn’t sure what the final blow was, or who dealt it, that actually killed Alexius, but perhaps that was for the best. He watched Alexius slump to the ground in a bloody heap. He stared down at him. This man only wanted to save his son.

_But he went about it the wrong way and the world suffered._

He took in a breath and knelt next to the body, fingers searching for-

“Yes,” he said with a brief smile as his fingers landed on the time amulet. He pulled it free from around Alexius’ neck and put it in Dorian’s outstretched hand, the mage standing just behind his left shoulder.

He stood fully and turned to find Dorian messing with the amulet, standing in place just off to the side, eyes narrowed in concentration. Suddenly loud bangs were heard from the large doors, along with odd growls, and he knew it was not humans fighting to get in, and they _would_ get in, it was only a matter of time.

Cassandra and Leliana looked at each other, nodded, and began moving toward the doors, with Leliana stopping a few feet from it while Cassandra moved to actually exit the room. Callum stared at them in disbelief.

“You can’t be serious,” he said. “You’ll die!”

“If that is how it must be,” Cassandra said, “then so be it.”

“No, there has to be another way,” he said, moving to step toward them only to have Dorian quickly catch his arm.

“Do not move,” the mage told him. “This is very delicate and I need you to stay still or you’ll kill us all.”

Callum bit down hard on his lower lip, staring as Cassandra left the room, closing the heavy doors behind her, leaving only Leliana standing with her arrows pointed at the doors.

“You have as many arrows I have,” Leliana told them firmly.

“This is crazy,” Callum muttered.

“The only way to stop this is for you to return to the past,” she told him.

He knew that was true, but this was still crazy. Dorian kept fiddling with the time amulet but honestly Callum’s focus was not on him, but rather on Leliana and the way the heavy doors burst open. Then all he could see was Cassandra’s body easily being thrown aside like a limp doll.

He stared at the ruined form of someone he considered a friend, and closed his eyes as Leliana continued firing her arrows at the demons which poured into the room. Eventually she was overcome; he heard it happen, heard her gurgle and gasp and then there was this silence he remembered from his past.

And then reality bent around them with that odd falling sensation, and he snapped his eyes open to find him standing in front of Alexius in the great hall as he had been before.

Alexius who looked rather surprised to see him.

“Sorry,” Callum breathed weakly upon noticing Dorian was in fact there with him as well, “that doesn’t work.”


	28. Let's Play a Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mages versus non-mages in Haven; Dorian becomes a willing prisoner of war.   
> (really, there's no reason for this chapter to exist)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I injured my left hand and can barely type with it (stings like a bitch, gah) so updates are probably going to be a little slower. As I already had half of this chapter written, I was able to go ahead and finish it. I don't know when the next update will come, sadly :( 
> 
> Also - the bit at the end is because of my boyfriend xD He is studying to e a masseuse soooo he's always lecturing me about massages and how he can render someone helpless if he wants xD
> 
> Again, there's no real reason this chapter should exist. It's nothing but fluff, really. Enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Let's Play a Game

 

Upon returning to Haven with the mages – after Alexius surrendered to the Inquisition and Queen Anora kicked them out of Redcliffe – all Callum wanted to do was sleep, but there was much to be done. After days of traveling, he just wanted a hot bath and a warm bed, preferably with Dorian nearby if not with him, but instead he was quickly led to a meeting in the war room where Cullen informed them he would be putting the mages through training, and that he was worried about abominations occurring with the veil so thin here due to the Breach. He chided Callum for readily accepting the mages into their ranks, to which Callum replied that Cullen had not been there so he had no real say over the matter.

Though upset that Cullen was a touch angry with him – he liked their odd friendship, after all – Callum felt he did the right thing in accepting the mages as allies. They needed their help with the Breach, after all, and otherwise the mages had nowhere to go. Taking them in as prisoners would make him no better than Alexius.

After checking in with them in the war room, he found Hawke waiting for him outside the chantry, having arrived just before Callum and Dorian did. Callum had to admit he was happy to see the mage.

“How was the Storm Coast?” he asked as Hawke led him toward the fire where Varric was usually found. The dwarf was nowhere in sight, nor was Hawke’s usual elven shadow. “Is everyone okay?”

“Everyone’s fine,” Hawke said with a nod. “Fenris is sleeping; I didn’t have the heart to wake him. Varric is sleeping off his victory drink.”

“Victory drink?”

“Oh – from where you got us the mages,” Hawke said with a smile. “And thanks, by the way. I should have been there.”

Callum shrugged. “He wanted to speak with me, anyway.”

“That is true, but you did well.”

“Thank you.”

Coming from Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall and a man Callum considered a friend, that was high praise indeed.

“I also heard you traveled through time,” Hawke said curiously.

Callum nodded slowly. “Yes, that is true.”

“They tell me you saw a ‘Dark Future’?”

“Is that what they’re calling it?”

_How apt._

“So? Tell me about it.”

“Not much to tell, really. Red lyrium was… What?”

At the words ‘red lyrium’ Hawke’s expression hardened suddenly, mouth slipping into a frown.

“Red lyrium…”

“Yes,” Callum said with his own frown. “Does that mean something to you?”

“In Kirkwall… Well, there was red lyrium there. It took years to effect people,” Hawke said quietly. “Meredith… she was influenced by it.”

“Oh,” Callum said softly. “I didn’t know that. But these people weren’t just infected with it – they were ingesting it or something. Becoming it.”

Hawke’s brows furrowed. “Well… shit.”

Callum smiled thinly. “My thoughts exactly. What else do you know of the red lyrium?”

“Not much,” Hawke admitted slowly. “Varric knows more than I do, I’m afraid.”

Callum could tell it was a sore spot, the red lyrium, and quickly changed the subject. “So did you meet the Bull’s Chargers?”

Hawke smiled faintly. “Yes, they have joined us. The Iron Bull leads them; you should meet him. I think the two of you would get along. He has offered to be my bodyguard, but I told him I already had Fenris.”

Callum snickered. “How did Fenris take it?”

“His markings flared and he said that position was not open.”

“Wish I’d have been there to see that,” Callum said with a chuckle, imagining the look on Fenris’ face.

“How are you and Dorian?” Hawke asked. “Being sent into the future must have been rough.”

“It was,” Callum said, looking away. “It was… horrible. Everyone was dying. I watched them die. I… There was a demon army, and someone called the ‘Elder One’, who Alexius was apparently working for.”

“Have you spoken to Alexius about this Elder One?”

“Not yet,” Callum said, shrugging. “I doubt he’ll want to talk to me. He might talk to you, though, since you’re the Inquisitor.”

“Inquisitor,” Hawke repeated with a sigh. “I will never get used to that particular title. Champion was bad enough.”

“You are a man of many names,” Callum said with a small smirk, as he once said the same thing about himself so long ago, back when things were so much simpler. So much easier. Back when all he had to worry about was doing odd jobs with Emry and hunting down the mage who killed his family.

“Well, I suppose I should let you return to your cabin. You look tired.”

Callum nodded, smiling at Hawke. “I’m exhausted, really. But then you’re probably tired too; it’s a long trip to the Storm Coast and back.”

“Very true,” Hawke said with a small chuckle. “I will speak with you later.”

Callum nodded goodbye and turned to finally head back toward his cabin, steps growing heavier the closer he got to the cabin and his nice warm bed. Traveling back to Haven had been tiresome, especially after his ordeal at Redcliffe Castle. Time travel. Somehow, he knew it wasn’t over yet. The blood mage still existed, but the Inquisition had the time amulet safely locked away; he made sure of that. Hopefully that would be enough to keep things from happening.

Somehow, though, evil always found a way.

Dorian was waiting for him just inside the cabin. Callum smiled at the sight of him in the soft glow of the fire.

“Hey,” he said quietly, closing the door behind him.

“How is it that we are to return to business as usual after the future we saw?” Dorian asked, quirking a brow at him. “Cassandra asked me to help train the mages, you see; Hawke will be helping as well. Am I to continue as if I did not see that ‘Dark Future’?”

Callum shrugged, feeling more tired by the second. “I suppose we just… move on.”

“And what of what we saw?”

“We know this ‘Elder One’ wants to kill Empress Celine,” Callum said. “We’ll go from there, I guess.”

“I suppose that’s all we can do,” Dorian said uncertainly.

“Hawke and Varric are working on the red lyrium subject… I think.”

“Well… that is something, at least.”

“I wanted to say thank you.”

Dorian looked at him, brows furrowing slightly. “Whatever for?”

Callum shrugged, chewing on his lower lip as he attempted to find the correct words. In the end he could only say, “For going with me into the future.”

A thin smile crossed Dorian’s face, accentuating the bags under his eyes. He was tired as well. A week-long nap was in order, Callum was certain. “As if I would let you wander the future alone.”

Callum smiled tiredly. “Yes, well… there’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with, future or present.”

Dorian chuckled quietly. “Let us not make a habit of it, yes?”

“Agreed.”

He’d had enough time travel to last him a lifetime. Two lifetimes, really – though the life he had in the future no longer existed because that blood mage changed the past. It was enough to give him a headache.

“I’m going to sleep for a week,” Callum said. “You’re more than welcome to join me.”

“Yes, _amatus,_ ” Dorian said with a nod. “That sounds marvelous.”

xXx

Dorian woke late the next morning to find Callum already gone from the bed they shared. Yawning, he sat up and looked around, but the cabin was still and silent; the rogue was not here. Figuring he met with Cullen to discuss further plans regarding the mark on his hand, or their combat training, Dorian climbed out of bed to begin his own day. Today he would meet with Hawke and the newly freed mages and discuss how important their mission was.

This Elder One needed to be stopped, whoever or whatever it was. Thinking about it put a foul taste in Dorian’s mouth; the demon army, the red lyrium consuming people, watching Cassandra and Leliana die, those brief moments of terror when he realized Callum was not next to him after they traveled forward in time…

After he was dressed for the day in his usually mage’s robe, he left the cabin and wandered out of Haven around the lakeside where the mages would be meeting. Hawke was already there with a smirk on his face even before he noticed Dorian’s arrival.

_Well, this will be good, I take it._

Hawke approached him, smirk turning into a grin. “Today we are going to have a little game.”

“A game?” Dorian repeated with a frown.

“Yes, the other team should be arriving any – ah, there they are now.”

Dorian turned to face where Hawke was gesturing and found the Templars – those who joined them with Cullen – approaching, with Cullen, Fenris and Callum at the head of the group. Fenris looked eager yet reluctant; Callum was grinning even before he waved at Dorian.

“Warriors and rogues versus us mages,” Hawke said as he waved at Fenris.

Dorian smirked. “I like it.”

“Only basic spells,” Hawke said, raising his voice to be heard over the chatter around them, addressing the mages even as Dorian could hear Cullen addressing the others. “We don’t want to hurt them; this is a basic strategy game.” Then he looked at Dorian, smirking. “And no canoodling with the enemy.”

“I don’t know about that,” Dorian hedged, smirking himself. “I can’t be held responsible if he defects to our side.”

Hawke laughed and shook his head before addressing the mages again. “The others are equipped with staves only. We don’t want to hurt anyone, got it?”

There was more chatter in agreement. Dorian could see the eager looks on everyone’s faces, on both sides. They were like kids getting told they could play rough but not too rough. The mages were eager to attack the Templars; the Templars were eager to attack the mages. This would help work out their aggression in a safe way, as well as train them to work together and everything.

_This plan is brilliant._

“Cullen will take his group away; we will meet on the course we have created,” Hawke finished telling them. “Work together and play fair. If you do not, you have no place in the Inquisition and you can go back to fending for yourselves without protection.” His eyes narrowed. “Are we clear?”

More agreement from the crowd, less enthusiastic this time. Dorian took in a slow breath and hoped everyone was listening. It would not do to have someone, even one of them, on either side, decide to go rogue and viciously attack someone else. It would only lead to chaos, and injuries. Severe injuries and even death.

This reminded him strangely of Tevinter, and the duels he had with his fellow peers. They were always rough and violent even if they were told not to kill each other. That didn’t mean they couldn’t seriously wound the other. It was always violent and bloody no matter what.

Dorian’s enthusiasm died away, replaced with an odd sense of worry.

Hawke nudged his arm. “So, we’ve been dubbed the ‘Inquisitor’s Team’, while the other has been called the ‘Herald’s Team’.”

Dorian smiled thinly. “Yes, that seems apt.”

Hawke frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything is fine. You are certain there won’t be serious injuries?”

Hawke nodded. “As certain as I can be. These mages have been running for a long time; they won’t risk their new freedom and acceptance just to take out some aggression on a Templar.”

Dorian hoped he was right.

“Can the same be said for the Templars?”

Hawke looked away. “Honestly, that’s what we are going to find out. They have deep-seeded beliefs. That is why they have only been given staves. They cannot seriously injure anyone unless they really, really want to, and by that point we’ll have caught them.”

“You expect betrayal?” Dorian asked, frowning again.

“You can never be too careful. But Cullen, Fenris, Bull and Callum are on that team; they’ll keep them in line.”

Dorian hoped that was true, and that no one was in any real danger.

_This isn’t Tevinter, Dorian. Everything will be fine._

This was Haven, not Tevinter. This was a game, not a devious duel. They all knew what was at stake if they could not get along and work together. The Breach was the main concern, not the mage-templar war.

xXx

In all honesty, Callum had fun with their little strategy, team-building game. He, Fenris and Bull stalked around everyone, keeping an eye on things for Cullen whilst also fending off mages with their shields and staves. It had been a long time since he did something like this. When training to be an assassin he did some similar things, of course; but that was all more… lethal. If you failed training, you died. They practiced with real swords and daggers, too. This was much more tame in comparison, but was fun.

Eventually Fenris even lightened up a little, smirking as he took down another mage – without hurting them. The mage scurried off as Fenris twirled the mage’s staff in his grip, turning to face the others. He tried to hide his smirk but failed miserably; he was having fun attacking mages in a way that wouldn’t get him in trouble.

So far Callum hadn’t seen Dorian or Hawke since this game started, but that was fine. He was in no mood to attack Dorian, playfully or otherwise. Other than not wanting to attack his friends, he was having fun, though. He easily avoided an ice spell which would have left him cold but not frozen, and ducked behind cover, entering stealth mode. As Sera, Varric and himself were the only rogues in the game, they were allowed to enter stealth mode at any given time. It would help the mages learn to expect the unexpected because in a real battle nothing went as planning. This was no like their previous lives on the run or in the Circle; this was a matter of life or death. Failure meant certain death as their enemies would not hesitate to kill them.

This Elder One wouldn’t hesitate to kill them.

Upon thinking of the Elder One and the future he witnessed, his good mood effectively vanished, leaving him scowling.

“Cheer up,” Varric said, elbowing him in the hip since the dwarf was shorter than him. “We already have one Broody; we don’t need two.”

Callum smirked and shook his head. “Just thinking, not brooding.”

“About this ‘Dark Future’ you saw?”

“Yes, that.”

“Creepy stuff,” Varric said, shaking his head. “Glad I didn’t see it.”

Callum nodded, smirk dispersing. He was happy Varric hadn’t seen it; Callum wished he himself hadn’t seen it, but he couldn’t erase his memory any more than he could reclaim his lost memories from the Conclave.

_Will I ever remember what happened?_

Every time he asked about it, no one knew how to respond. They did not know why he forgot, nor why he couldn’t remember now. As time passed it became less and less likely he would ever remember what happened after Hawke left the Conclave.

“Is this where the party is?” came a familiar, velvety smooth voice and Callum looked up, smirking as Dorian emerged from around a few of the smaller trees, looking at them smugly. “You brute types, so loud. If we were enemies, you would be dead.”

Callum chuckled. “If we were enemies, you wouldn’t speak to us.”

“Mm, yes, that is true,” Dorian said with a nod.

“Dicey, don’t consort with the enemy,” Varric chided.

“Dicey?” Dorian asked with a quirk of a delicate brow.

Callum shrugged. “Because I like to stab things, apparently. You don’t even want to know what he calls you when you’re not around.”

Dorian’s eyes lit up like a small fire, warm and full of mirth. “Oh? And what do you call me?” he asked, looking at Varric who stood scowling at them.

“Consorting with the enemy,” Varric said, shaking his head.

“He calls you Sparkler,” Callum said with a quiet snicker at the look which overtook Dorian’s face.

“Sparkler,” the mage repeated. “I do not sparkle.”

“You glitter a little,” Varric said, smirking.

“Are we finished speaking with the enemy?” Fenris inquired. Callum was honestly surprised the let the conversation linger this long.

“I suppose I could attack you,” Dorian said, looking at Callum. “Or, since Hawke has forbade me from ‘canoodling’ with the enemy, perhaps I could be your hostage, yes?”

Callum smirked, shaking his head. “And why would you want to do that, Dori?”

“Dreadful thing, fighting,” Dorian said. “I find I am not very good at ‘pretend’ fighting.”

“I declare Dorian a prisoner of war,” Callum said, looking at Varric. “Make note of it.”

“Hear that, Tiny?” Varric asked, looking at the massive qunari with them, known as The Iron Bull.

Because apparently the ‘The’ was important. He liked it. Callum thought it was amusing. The two had gotten along swimmingly so far, as Hawke predicted. He and Bull had the same type of humor, it seemed, and fighting style… though Callum was more the ‘stealth mode until you are behind the enemy’ style while Bull was more the ‘ram through the enemies until you are behind and in front of them’ style. Either way – killers.

Mercenaries, too, in their own right.

“Taking Vints hostage,” Bull mused. “I like it, though killing them would be best.”

Callum scowled. “Hush, you, we are not murdering anyone.”

“Who is this?” Dorian asked, frowning at the qunari, and Callum realized they had yet to be introduced.

“Dorian, meet The Iron Bull,” Callum said. “ ‘The’ is important.”

“I see,” Dorian said slowly.

“And The Iron Bull, this is Dorian Pavus,” Callum said.

Bull nodded once in acknowledgement, still seemingly uneasy with working with – and speaking to – a ‘Vint’. Emry used to call Dorian that, too. Thinking about Emry left a sour taste in Callum’s mouth.

“I thought I said no canoodling with the enemy,” Hawke groused as he came upon the scene, scowling at them.

“Ah, but, as you can see, there is no ‘canoodling,’” Dorian said with a smirk. “We are merely discussing how I am now a prisoner of war.”

Hawke’s brow rose inquisitively. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Callum said with a nod. “It’s all very strategic.”

“How are the mages doing?” Fenris asked, looking at Hawke.

Hawke smiled. “They are doing well. The others?”

“Fine,” Callum said with a nod.

“Nothing too antagonistic?”

“Other than Fenris stating if they tried anything out of line he would personally ram his fist into their chest? Nope, nothing,” Callum said innocently.

The look Fenris shot him was priceless. _Thanks for selling me out._

Callum grinned back. _Deal with it._

xXx

The ‘game’ went well enough, in Dorian’s opinion. Everyone was still alive and relatively unharmed at the end, though some had bruises from the staves, but nothing major. In the end he left the ‘battlefield’ with a smile, walking next to Callum who kept yawning, obviously exhausted from the day’s events. He had to wield heavy staves, after all, while all Dorian had to do was fling a few simple spells. Child’s play, really.

“Well,” he said upon entering the cabin, “that was interesting.”

Callum tossed him a tired smirk as he closed the door behind them, shivering. “It’s freezing.”

“Perhaps it is the ice spell you did not deflect,” Dorian surmised.

Callum scowled at him. “Be thankful I did not use you as a shield.”

Dorian shrugged, watching the rogue as he stalked toward the fireplace, quickly attempting to start a fire. Taking pity on him, Dorian flicked his wrist and a small fire grew amidst the logs in the fireplace, causing Callum to step back appreciatively, smiling at him.

“Thank you, Dori.”

Dorian smirked despite himself. For some reason that nickname always left him smiling, and he wasn’t entirely sure why. It was better than ‘Sparkler’, at any rate.

_Why Sparkler? Because I use fire spells?_

He honestly had no idea.

“Did Hawke speak to you?”

The question came out of nowhere, and the atmosphere changed subtly, the smile disappearing from the rogue’s face, leaving Dorian frowning.

“No,” he said slowly. “Why? Did he speak to you?”

“He’s going into the Hinterlands tomorrow,” Callum said. “To look for a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall. He wants you to go with him.”

“Oh,” Dorian said, frown deepening. “Just me, then?”

“He has something else he wants me to do. Well… the invitation was for me, I guess.”

“And what is this he wants you to do, exactly?”

“First Enchanter Vivienne wants to speak with me at a party she is having,” Callum said, shrugging. “It’s nothing dangerous; she just wants to speak with the Herald of Andraste. She might even join us.”

“I see,” Dorian said slowly, even as he internally sighed. “And is this what you want?”

“I don’t know. I would like to do nothing but nap for the next week, but apparently that’s out of the question.”

The scowl on Callum’s face was familiar and left Dorian smirking despite everything.

“Perhaps afterward, you can rest,” he said. “Where is this Vivienne, exactly?”

“Near Val Royeaux,” Callum said. “While I’m there, Hawke wants to take care of a few things in the Hinterlands.”

“Finding Blackwall.”

“Among other things.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know; he’s working on expanding the Inquisition’s influence or something, so he’s doing things for people through there. He wants you to go with him so they have two mages.”

“He can take Solas.”

“Fenris and Solas don’t get along very well,” Callum said, shaking his head.

“And, what? Fenris and I get along swimmingly?”

It wasn’t that he and Fenris _hated_ each other, but Dorian was certain Fenris would not help him if he was in need.

“He’s getting… _used_ to you,” Callum assured him. “I wouldn’t say he likes you or anything, but at least he doesn’t want to snap your neck anymore. He doesn’t trust Solas for some reason; I don’t know why. To my knowledge the two of them have barely spoken to one another. Anyway – so Hawke wants two mages with them while they deal with mages and Templars in the Hinterlands.”

“And what if they have rifts?”

Callum sighed, looking away. “Then they are to mark them on a map and I will go there to close them when I can. Right now it is too unsafe in the area, though, with the apostates and Templars.”

“I thought the whole point of going to Redcliffe was to get the apostates on our side,” Dorian said, confused. Why would they need to worry about the apostates, then?

“No – we got the rebel mages,” Callum said. “They were just trying to protect themselves. The apostates, however, are killing whoever gets in their way and are very dangerous. Mixed with the rebel Templars… well, it isn’t pretty.”

Dorian sighed, running a hand across his face. Exhaustion weighed heavy through him, finally catching up to him from the day’s events. “Very well,” he said quietly. “I will accompany Hawke.”

“Thank you,” Callum said, smiling. “It will be you, Hawke, Fenris and Cassandra.”

“Varric is not going?”

“He’s looking into his contacts about the red lyrium we witnessed in the future,” Callum said, shrugging. “So he’s a little busy right now.”

Dorian nodded. “I see. In that case, when do we leave?”

_Not that I want to leave…_

He was quite happy here, and they only just got back from Redcliffe. Leaving again, so soon, without Callum… did not seem right. But Hawke was in charge around here, really; he was the head of the Inquisition, and if he thought they needed Dorian’s help, then perhaps it was best he did as Hawke said.

Callum was only traveling to Val Royeaux to meet with an enchanter; hopefully he would take precautions and back-up, and he would be fine. If this Vivienne did wind up joining the Inquisition, it would only help them.

_The things I do for the Inquisition…_

“You leave tomorrow afternoon,” Callum said apologetically. “I’m sorry; I didn’t even know about this until earlier today.”

“It is fine,” Dorian sighed, shaking his head. “I was just hoping to relax a little longer, that is all.”

“I could help with that, if you want.”

Dorian quirked a brow. “Oh? And how would you help, exactly?”

xXx

“Mm… yes… that is… yes…”

Dorian’s sleepy voice filtered into Callum’s ears and he smirked down at the limp mage, tender beneath his probing fingers.

“I am excellent at massages,” Callum said.

“Mm… how…?”

Callum chuckled at Dorian’s inability to form words at the moment. “I am a killer, remember? I know how to render you immobile without lifting my blade. I know all the muscles and tendons and how they connect. If we were enemies you would be dead right now.”

“Good thing… I’m not… then…”

Callum smirked, carefully kneading his fingers into the tense muscles of Dorian’s back, watching as the mage went even more limp under his touch, a breathy sigh escaping him.

It wasn’t the first time Callum had seen Dorian shirtless, but it was the first time he was touching the warm, smooth skin, feeling for himself the finely tuned muscles he could only picture before. Dorian was well built for a mage.

_And he is awesome because of it._

“You’re too good at this,” Dorian sighed contentedly.

“Yes, well, I’ll have you know this is part of my plan.”

“You… have a plan?”

“Yes – seducing you is my plan, and it is working, yes?”

Dorian chuckled tiredly beneath him. “Yes, _amatus_.”

He still had no idea what that meant, but felt this warmth in his stomach every time he heard it coming from Dorian’s soft lips. He wished he didn’t have to let him go tomorrow, but they each had their own jobs to do for the time being. They would meet back up here soon.

“Be careful,” he said quietly. “In the Hinterlands, I mean.”

“I will,” Dorian promised sleepily. Callum wondered if he would even remember this conversation in the morning. Judging by the breathy cadence of his voice, probably not, he mused.

“I will see you when you get back.”

Dorian was putty under his hands, waiting to be formed.

Callum sighed, leaned forward and kissed lightly at the back of Dorian’s neck, causing the mage to stir slightly, becoming slightly more aware.

“Mm… you be careful, as well,” Dorian yawned.

“Mm, the horrors of Orlais,” he sighed with a smirk. “However shall I deal?”

“You could always… give them… massages…”

Callum chuckled. “Sleep, Dorian; you’re telling me to massage nobles.”

Dorian was silent for a moment before he released his own breathy chuckle.

“Yes… I suppose it is time to sleep before I say something even more ridiculous.” He stretched out a little more, sighing heavily. “Goodnight, _amatus_.”

Callum smirked. “Goodnight, Dori.”


	29. That Which is Unfair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Callum discuss fingers and shoulders before going separate ways; there's a dragon in the sky and an army marching toward Haven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have a smaller bandage which lets me type without too much pain, but sometimes there are typos xD I think I caught most of them, but we'll see. It might be a bit before the next chapter, both because of my hand and because I am not at this point in the game yet; I need to level up like 2 more times. So we will see how it goes, but I wanted to go ahead and give you guys an update instead of waiting. 
> 
> Also I hope this doesn't sound too rushed. I didn't want to linger on side missions/team building missions because I'm sure you all already know them, but I needed them to happen at some point xD So I'm a little worried about this chapter. Thoughts?

Chapter Twenty-Eight: That Which is Unfair

 

“Dori.”

Dorian woke slowly, listening as a familiar voice called his name. He was smiling even before he opened his eyes and found Callum hovering over him with a grin of his own across his face.

“I brought you breakfast,” Callum told him, holding up the plate of food. The scent of it wrapped around them, making Dorian’s stomach growl. They hadn’t eaten dinner last night; now he realized exactly how hungry he was.

“I hope you brought enough for two,” Dorian said, quirking a brow at Callum as he sat up. Callum chuckled and gestured at the second plate which was across the room on the small desk-like table. Dorian nodded appreciatively and accepted his plate from Callum so the rogue could then get his own plate.

Callum joined him on the bed and the two ate in a comfortable silence.

_I could get used to this…_

This was true, he realized. A part of him _wanted_ to get used to this. Breakfast in bed with Callum, curled up in the warm covers on an otherwise snowy and bleak day. Well… perhaps without the snow and bleakness. One thing he definitely missed about Tevinter was the warm weather. Even at its coldest it never got anywhere near this cold.

A knot formed in his stomach. The more he thought about Tevinter, the more he found himself missing it, though not enough to return. As much as he might miss the weather and his status and freedom as a mage, he had a new life for himself here that he would miss just as much, if not more. He had more here, he realized, than he ever truly had in Tevinter.

“Dori?”

He blinked and focused on Callum, who was carefully taking his empty plate from him to put the two of them across the room on the table. He then returned to the bed, smiling down at Dorian with this soft look in his eyes which immediately left Dorian fighting the urge to smile back.

“Yes, _amatus_?”

Callum chuckled. “I still don’t know what that means.”

Dorian shrugged, finally smirking. “Then perhaps you will just have to figure it out.”

“You won’t tell me, then?” Callum asked, brow raised inquisitively.

“Where is the fun in me giving you all the answers?”

Callum chuckled again, shaking his head as he climbed back into bed next to Dorian. Dorian found he missed the warmth when the rogue was away, anyway.

“I’d love to stay in bed all day,” Callum sighed a few minutes later, the two of them mostly sitting in relative silence, enjoying the warmth while they could.

Dorian scowled. “As would I, but apparently I am needed on an expedition.”

“Lucky you.”

“Not how I would describe it.”

Callum smirked tiredly at him. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m needed on an ‘expedition’ as well.”

“And you are certain we are not meant to go on the same expedition?”

“Pretty sure.”

Dorian smirked and shook his head, sighing heavily as this foreboding feeling began sinking into him. Since he joined the Inquisition, he and Callum had hardly been separated, and not for any real length of time. This time, however… he could be gone a while.

“How long will we be gone, do you think?” Dorian asked curiously.

Callum shrugged. “I don’t know. He said anywhere from a week to a month.”

“A month,” Dorian repeated somewhat flatly. “How… wonderful.”

_I do not wish to be gone a month…_

Anything could happen in a month. He knew exactly how long a month was from waiting for seven long months on Callum to reappear through time. He had no desire to be gone for a month.

“Don’t worry,” Callum said. “I’ll be gone around two weeks anyway.”

Dorian sighed heavily. It was quite the trip to Orlais, and then past Val Royeaux to attend Vivienne’s party. Why she wanted them to join her at a party to discuss joining the Inquisition was confusing, however. If she wished to join, why not simple travel here herself? It wasn’t like they wouldn’t gladly accept her help.

“Don’t forget to mark down all the rifts for me,” Callum said somewhat distastefully, scowl quickly arriving on his face.

Dorian knew he did not care for closing the rifts. He would do it because that was what needed to be done and he was the only one who could do it, but Dorian knew it caused him pain each time he was both near one and when he closed one. Callum felt increasingly uneasy with his new ability and the mark on his hand. The more he used it, the more uncertain he felt about the whole thing.

“With any luck, there won’t be more rifts in the Hinterlands,” Dorian said.

Callum sighed, shaking his head. “Thanks for the effort, but sadly you and I both know you’re wrong.”

Dorian sighed as well. “Yes, well, we can hope, can’t we?”

“Yes, there is that.”

They slipped into more silence. All he could hear was the crackling of fire. He glanced at Callum.

“Did you…?”

“Yes, I started the fire,” Callum said. “I don’t want you to freeze to death before you leave, after all.”

Dorian smiled thinly. “Whatever would I do without you?”

“Freeze?” Callum offered with a small smirk. “Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure Hawke won’t let you freeze while you’re away. Pretty sure.”

“How comforting,” Dorian muttered, shaking his head with a heavy sigh. He did not wish to go. This was increasingly unfair; did he not get a say in this? Yes, Hawke was in charge, but shouldn’t he ask for _volunteers_ and not just demand people travel with him?

Dorian could understand why Hawke wanted two mages, but all he had to do was either take Solas instead – despite Fenris’ misgivings – or wait until Vivienne arrived. It would only take two weeks. And then Dorian could travel to Val Royeaux with Callum and Hawke would have his two mages.

Sadly – time was of the essence, as always. To take care of the rifts in the Hinterlands they needed to at least clear out the apostates and Templars.

It was going to be a long month.

“Don’t forget your sleep skin,” Callum told him. “And for crying out loud, cover up that shoulder of yours once in a while or you’ll lose it to frostbite.”

Dorian couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him. He had not even realized Callum noticed the fact his robe only really covered one shoulder, leaving the other one bare. It was how he dressed in Tevinter, and in the warmer months it still worked for him. Sadly, after the Breach opened he was left with surprisingly little clothing.

“I will do what I can,” Dorian promised with a smirk.

Callum scowled. “You mock me now, but if you come back without a shoulder, I will laugh at you.”

“That’s not very nice,” Dorian told him.

“I’m not a nice person.”

“Oh, on the contrary,” Dorian said, smiling fondly. “I think you’re a _very_ nice person. With amazing fingers.”

“Yes, my fingers are quite lovely, aren’t they?” Callum said, holding his hand up for inspection. Dorian chuckled, shaking his head.

“Quite,” he said. “Do come back with all of them, yes?”

“Oh, I won’t lose a finger,” Callum promised with a smirk.

“See that you do not,” Dorian said, smirking back. “I will require a massage for my possibly frostbitten shoulder, after all.”

Callum chuckled, shaking his head at him before the laughter died away and he looked at him seriously. “Be careful.”

“I will,” Dorian said. “If you are careful as well. I would hate to come back and not have those fingers ready for me.”

Callum smiled faintly, nodding. “I’ll be here with my fingers, warming them by the fire.”

“Try not to fall in.”

The rogue scowled. “When have I ever fallen into the fire?”

“There is a first time for everything.”

Callum shoved lightly at his shoulder. “Hush, you, or you will not even get to _look_ at my fingers let alone feel them.”

“Oh, however shall I cope?”

“You could ask Fenris. I’m sure he has some very strong fingers with that sword of his.”

Dorian burst out laughing, unable to stop himself. “ _Fenris_? No thank you, I rather like my head where it is.”

“Hawke, then.”

“Yes, I am certain Fenris will let his boyfriend put his hands all over me,” Dorian said, rolling his eyes, still laughing quietly. “That’s even _worse_. Are you trying to get me killed by our allies?”

“Not _trying_ , no,” Callum said, smiling at him. “Just suggesting things you definitely shouldn’t do, that’s all.”

“I see. In that case, thank you, I suppose.”

“You’re very welcome, Dori.”

xXx

In all honesty, Warden Blackwall was a little cut and dry for Dorian’s taste. He kept speaking of the Wardens with such reverence, as though they could do no wrong. He offered to join the Inquisition because he wanted to help, and also because he was curious about the Grey Wardens’ whereabouts as well since he was out here recruiting alone. After that they took to clearing out the apostates and Templars, respectively.

Dorian couldn’t help but feel like he was betraying his own kind whenever he killed a fellow mage. But then he thought of all the innocent lives caught in the middle, thought of the blood mage attempting to kill Callum, and his resolve hardened. This was not Tevinter; he had no kinship to these mages. They killed without mercy, all in the guise of freedom. It was mages like these that gave them all a bad name, that made everyone assume the only way mages could exist was inside a Circle, watched over by Templars. While it was different in Tevinter, he could see why mages were feared.

He had always known that, of course, but growing up in Tevinter, where magic was not only accepted but encouraged, he hadn’t realized how different things were in the south. After having been here for years, though, and watching tensions grow as the war worsened… it was a little close to home, to be honest, especially since he lived in the Hinterlands for a time.

They came across at least two rifts and made note of them on a map, otherwise steering clear of them for now. Callum would have to return and take care of them; Dorian would be at his side, of course. He would not let him go gallivanting through the Hinterlands, filled with bandits and demons, alone.

Occasionally Blackwall would attempt small conversation, but Fenris kept silent, walking next to Hawke most of the time, leaving Dorian, Varric, and Blackwall behind to awkwardly converse amongst themselves. Varric was friendly enough, as always, and he and Blackwall had a few brief discussions but Dorian preferred to stay silent and get their work over with so that they could return to Haven. He may have once lived in the Hinterlands, but it was far from the home he used to have. Everything seemed to have changed in such a short amount of time; he could hardly recognize it anymore.

_This is far from the home I used to know._

He couldn’t blame it all on the demons, either. The war had consumed the Hinterlands with every fiber of its being. Down to the last bit of dirt he walked upon, everything had changed.

After doing odd jobs for three days, hunting down the Templars and apostates and clearing them out – Dorian was not sure how to feel about killing them, truthfully, but in the end they brought this on themselves by killing innocents – they eventually got ready to leave the Hinterlands and head back to Haven.

Dorian was pleased; it had been a tiresome journey thus far, with a few of the Templars getting a little too close for comfort in some of their attacks. One of them rendered Hawke’s mana useless, using that drain attack they once used on Dorian which left him passing out. Hawke staggered back but was apparently used to this attack, as he fought easily without his mana, though exhausted he appeared. By that point Fenris was cutting through the men attempting to harm him, anyway. Thankfully, Dorian hadn’t been hit with that attack again, but even so his mana was nearly out by the time they managed to finally get rid of the last of the rogue Templars.

That night at the campfire, Dorian took first watch while the others slept soundly around him in their small tents. Fenris and Hawke were sharing one, which left Varric and Dorian sharing another, along with Blackwall. Varric snored so loudly Dorian swore it could wake the dead. Blackwall was thankfully not a snorer, but he did move a lot in his sleep and kept kicking Dorian in the ribs as he shifted during the night, the three of them at odd angles most of the time.

So he decided to take first watch. He could hear Varric’s snores from here.

He missed the quiet cabin in Haven. He missed the warm bed he shared with Callum. He missed the feel of Callum’s fingers carefully probing into his tense muscles, relaxing him in a way nothing else ever had or ever could. He missed the soft breaths the rogue released as he slept, surprisingly soothing in the still air in their newly shared room.

It had not been that long since the two kissed and decided to share a bed. So far they had done nothing of import; all they had done was kiss a few times, a few soft touches during the night, but that was as far as they had gotten. They had been positively tame thus far. Dorian was not certain how he felt about that, honestly; in Tevinter everything was rushed, consumed with the fear of being caught and once again shaming his family. Eventually he just stopped trying.

Now, though…

He could take things as slowly as he wanted, because it was more accepted in the south. It was not seen as an aberration. _He_ was not seen as an aberration. His father was not around to tell him what was and wasn’t proper. He did not have to worry about disgracing his family.

With Callum, things were easy. And slow.

Blissfully slow and Dorian found the journey better than the ride.

The wait would be worth it in the end, he was certain.

Perhaps when he returned to Haven the two of them could try something…

xXx

Enchanter Vivienne’s party was elegant, high-class, like most things in Orlais. Everyone wore masks. Callum could never understand why they would do such a thing. Masks were fine to hide one’s identity, but it seemed like every noble hid behind a mask, terrified of showing their faces. _The scandal._

He smirked to himself even as he sighed heavily. Emry would have hated it here.

He would have hated the masks, the snootiness, the accents, everything…

Dorian would have found it humorous.

A small smile spread across his lips then, thinking of the mage.

Yes, Dorian would have at least enjoyed himself a little. He was used to high-class, from Tevinter. Though Callum did not know the story surrounding why Dorian left his home in Tevinter – Dorian rarely even mentioned his time there, or his family, and it was obviously a sore spot with him so Callum tended to respect his wishes and not bring it up despite his curiosity – he did know Dorian was at least high-class in Tevinter. The Pavus family was a good bloodline, which granted them status.

While Dorian might have had issues with Tevinter and his life there, Callum still though he would at least find Orlais and its nobles amusing if nothing else.

He wished Dorian was here, but sadly he was away with Hawke in the Hinterlands. Callum wanted to go with him and make sure everything went smoothly, but as the ‘Herald of Andraste’ – Maker, he hated that title – he had certain duties he had to fulfill. Another reason to hate being cursed with this mark upon his hand.

_I used to be free, with no title. No true name, even. Now…_

It was funny, almost, how things had changed. How everything could change so quickly. In a deadly night ending in a fire, or with an explosion at a Conclave. Time was fickle.

Vivienne was intriguing, to say the least. She kept referring to him as ‘darling’ or ‘dear’. In a way it reminded him vaguely of his mother, leaving him oddly homesick. It had been such a long time since he had been called that, after all. It took him right back to his childhood.

She chided a marquis who spat accusations at Callum, and then asked what he wished to do with the man. Caught off-guard, he said he didn’t care, whatever she thought was best. She let the man go only after stating she would tell his family, and then returned to Callum’s side to discuss his mark and the Inquisition.

Just as Callum was beginning to think this was going to be a long night, she finally declared she would join the Inquisition and set both him and his companion – The Iron Bull, even though his qunari companion did earn him a few choice looks – up in a nice room. They would stay the night, eat a good meal, and leave sometime tomorrow to return to Fereldan and Haven.

Hopefully Dorian would be back in Haven by then, as well.

xXx

They stayed in the Hinterlands longer than expected. Dorian was not pleased with this new arrangement, but further pleas for help cropped up and they had new jobs to deal with it, as well as marking down the locations of more rifts. By the time they were finally prepared to leave, they had been there at least a week. Dorian was tired of this place and wanted nothing more than to return to Haven and see how things went in Orlais. Surely Callum was already back by now, and would be there to greet Dorian upon his arrival. He could almost picture it now.

The walk from the Hinterlands to Haven was long, filled with nasty weather. The green glow in the sky grew darker the closer they got to Haven, since Haven was so near the Breach. There was a faint glow reaching out as far as the Hinterlands, but that was how one knew they were certainly going in the right direction to reach Haven.

Dorian eyed the green in the sky with a smile. Soon he would return to Haven and-

A shadow passed by overhead. A large, growling thing flying through the sky. For a long moment Dorian stood there, puzzled. They were at least a day’s walk away from Haven; there were no dragons through here. And yet he knew what he saw.

Hawke and the others stopped as well, staring up at the sky.

Along the cliffside could be heard shouts. The closer one got to Haven, the more cliffs and mountains cropped up. The Frostback Mountains, all snow-capped and everything.

Snow-capped and white, but there were dark figures marching along the edges. And a dragon flying by overhead.

“It’s heading for Haven,” Varric said as the dragon flew closer toward the green light in the sky, in the direction it was heading.

“Then we must hurry,” Dorian said breathily.

“What do you think is happening?” Blackwall asked worriedly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dorian told him sharply. “We need to warn them.”

“We won’t make it in time, Sparkler,” Varric said quietly.

Irritation flooded through Dorian like it did every time he heard that stupid name Varric called him, but right now all he could think about was the fact he had been gone for over two weeks. Two weeks was more than enough time for Callum to go to Orlais and back, with Vivienne.

_Callum is at Haven._

Haven, where that dragon and all those black outlines along the cliffsides were going.

_They’ll be slaughtered._

Everyone there would die. They were not prepared for such a large-scale attack. They were not prepared for an army and a _dragon_. A dragon that was obviously picky about who and what it attacked as it left the army on the cliffsides alone. Dorian and the others were too far away to make out any actual details, but the sound of the dragon’s growl and the army’s shouts echoed over the wind.

This was an ambush. A full-scale ambush.

Everyone would die, as no one was prepared for _this_.

Dorian broke into a run.

_No – I will not allow it!_

“Sparkler! Running won’t help!” Varric called after him.

“Running is foolish,” Fenris snapped. “You will only get yourself killed.”

A thin hand wrapped around Dorian’s wrist, yanking him to a stop. He turned wild eyes on Hawke, who stood in front of him, blue eyes carefully catching his own.

“I know this is hard,” Hawke said softly. “But no matter how fast we travel, we will not make it before that army does. Do you understand?”

“But… Callum,” Dorian said stupidly. He sounded like such a fool. “The others. We can’t just let them all die!”

Callum, Cassandra, Cullen, Sera, Bull… so many innocent people…

So many innocent people just attempting to fix the world.

And now they would die.

 _Callum_ would die.

“We’ll travel as fast as we can,” Hawke assured him, releasing his wrist. “Do you hear me? But we will not make it in time. But that does not mean we can’t help when we do arrive.”

Dorian nodded slowly, attempting to comprehend what was happening even as his breath caught in his throat. “What… What is happening? Why an army? A _dragon_?”

“I don’t know,” Hawke said, frowning. “But we will figure out later. Right now we need to hurry… and attempt to ease the flow of casualties.”

 _Casualties_.

Because people _would_ die. There was no question about that. It was inevitable. Not everyone was going to make it out of this unscathed. This was an ambush, an assault. From who, Dorian didn’t know, but that didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that he knew Callum.

He knew Callum would be on the frontline doing whatever he could to keep the attackers back while the civilians retreated to safety somewhere, probably inside the chantry. Callum would be out there with that _dragon_ and a large portion of this army, and Dorian would not, could not, be at his side.

 _If you die,_ amatus _, I will never forgive you. I am a necromancer; I will bring you back to life just to hate you for eternity._

All empty threats, he knew.

Why could the world not let the two of them be happy? Every time he thought something was finally going right for a change, something happened out of the blue like this. Like Alexius demanding to speak to only Callum, and even giving them a time table. Like this bloody _army_ and _dragon_.

“Hurry,” Hawke said, turning away from Dorian to begin leading the way at a quick pace.

Dorian swallowed convulsively around the lump in his throat and stepped to follow after him.

_Maker, just let this turn out okay. That is all I ask._

He had never been the praying type; it felt a little too hypocritical in Tevinter. But right now, he was willing to do whatever to ensure things would indeed turn out okay. That Callum would leave and the last image he saw of the rogue would not be a blurry picture seen between half-lidded eyes whilst he was mostly asleep.

_I haven’t even had him for a month…_

This was not fair. Then again, life was not fair. Nothing was ever fair, for anyone.

Why would anything change now?

xXx

Returning to Haven to find Dorian was not yet back was unsettling to say the least. Callum tried not to let the worry eat at him; he trusted both Dorian and Hawke. Fenris wouldn’t let anything happen to Hawke, and Hawke would make sure Dorian was as safe as he could be. That being said, things could still go horribly wrong.

Sighing, he shook his head and rubbed a gloved hand over his face. A snow storm had started early this morning, leaving him shivering most of the day. It was now mid-afternoon and still the chill had not died away. He sat in his cabin next to the fire but somehow it didn’t feel quite as warm as it usually did when in Dorian’s presence.

_Dorian…_

He hoped the mage was okay. If he had not heard anything from them in another week… he would personally go looking for them. He would launch a search sooner but sadly Hawke said he was not sure how long they would be gone – perhaps even a month at the most. So Callum had no real right to worry yet.

That did not mean he could stop the feeling from forming, however.

He spent most of his time helping Cullen or trying to stay warm in his cabin. He occasionally checked in with the war room, but everything seemed relatively quiet. No new, urgent missions to do, so he was actually free to do as he wished for a change. Sadly, Dorian was no around and he was alone, so he spent his time mostly in his cabin.

This cabin wasn’t much but in the month or so since he had been here, it felt almost like home, especially when Dorian was around. When the mage was with him it felt so warm, like a home instead of a temporary cabin in the middle of the Frostback Mountains where warmth came to die.

He had grown rather fond of it during his stay here. He did not know what he would do when this was over and they no longer needed him.

If they could remove this mark from his hand – _after_ the Breach had been closed, of course – then the Inquisition would have no real use for him anymore. They could throw him out; some people still blamed him for everything, after all. They never directly said anything to his face but he heard whispers, conversations that stopped when he neared, intense glares directed at him…

So perhaps they would find him guilty after all, and throw him out.

He couldn’t blame them, after all; he didn’t even truly know if he was innocent or not. And after this was over they wouldn’t need him anymore, or his mark.

And then he would have to leave this place, this cabin, behind and start over somewhere else again.

_But what of Dorian?_

He frowned to himself. He honestly had no idea how to answer that question.

Starting over generally meant starting over alone, but leaving Dorian behind again, after they had advanced their relationship a step further… it seemed wrong. No, he could not, would not, abandon Dorian. If he did leave Haven, he would take Dorian with him if that was what the mage wanted. Then again, if he was kicked out and Dorian wanted to stay…

Then Callum had no right to stop him.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, noting with a scowl that he would need to shave soon. His stubble was getting a little too thick for his liking.

_A month…_

It had been a little over a month since he had really shaved. He had the beginnings of a beard. He wondered, briefly, how Dorian would like it when he saw it. If he would laugh or smile or anything else.

Sadly, he might have to wait another week or so.

Yawning, he got to his feet and stretched.

He was not prepared for the sudden onslaught of pain stabbing through his hand and into his arm and shoulder as a faint green glow emitted from the mark. He cradled his hand to his chest, frowning as he looked around. A darkness settled outside, too early for nightfall, and he knew something was wrong.

Something was very, very wrong.


	30. In Your Heart Shall Burn part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callum mourns the loss of his new home; Dorian regrets that he can't be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... I know I said I was going to actually play through this part and use dialogue and everything... but I wound up being 5 levels behind instead of 2, I guess, and it's taking forever to level up so I figured I would just wing it for now xD I don't want to go exactly by the game, anyway; that was why I was dubious about getting into Inquisition in the first place, after all. So. yeah. 
> 
> This is random dialogue of my choosing and events I remembered from the two times I played this part in the game xD Soooo... I hope it still sounds okay. You all know what happens here, anyway. I'm sure I'm not spoiling/ruining too much. Hopefully. Gah. Let me know how it sounds, please! 
> 
> If it sucks I can erase it and go back with game dialogue when I finally get to this point xD I want to be level 10 before I do it, as I did it at level 9 last time and it was hard, and I almost died, so... and I'm at level 8 right now. Anyway, please let me know!!

Chapter Twenty-Nine: In Your Heart Shall Burn (Part 1)

 

_Maker, what is happening…?_

Callum truly had no idea what was going on. All he knew was that it was complete and utter chaos, with Haven’s civilians fleeing behind the walls surrounding the small village. Callum arrived on the scene as the large, heavy doors which were usually open to welcome people into the village, closed. Just inside the area stood a young, pale boy – probably in his teens or something – with an oversized hat on his head, speaking quickly to Cassandra while Cullen barked orders at the mages and Templars they had with them.

Throughout it all, he could hear the sounds of people getting closer.

“You took his mages,” the pale boy was saying with this soft voice. “He is very angry that you took his mages.”

“Who is?” Callum couldn’t help but ask.

Sadly there was little time to answer as enemies started pouring over the walls. He hurried to Cullen’s side.

“What can I do?” he asked.

“The trebuchets,” Cullen said somewhat apprehensively. “We can use them and cause an avalanche; it might dislodge our enemies from the mountainside. It could also do the same to us if we are not careful.”

Callum had seen a few trebuchets around – three of them – but hadn’t thought much about it until now. He had always wondered what they were there for, why they were built, what purpose they could have… but now he understood. If they could use it correctly, and aim the trebuchets to hit the opposite cliffside where the enemies were approaching from, then perhaps they could have a chance in this sudden ambush.

“Except they’re not firing,” Cullen was telling him.

Callum nodded, understanding. “I will fire them,” he promised.

“You cannot do this alone,” Cullen said, shaking his head. “And we need you safe; you’re the only one who can close the-”

“Rifts, yeah, I know,” Callum said, scowling at him. “We can discuss that later. Right now the trebuchets are our main concern, right? And what of the enemy? Do we know who they are?”

“Not yet,” Cullen told him, sighing.

_Just great._

An unknown enemy had literally raised an _army_ against them. This was a planned attack; and angry. Callum believed the pale boy’s words of how ‘he’ was angry. He… Was it the Elder One? A chill crawled down Callum’s spine even as his hand pulsated green again, this time catching Cullen’s attention. The templar’s eyes swiveled toward his hand, brows furrowing.

“Are there rifts nearby?” Cullen asked, looking distinctly uneasy.

Callum shrugged. “Unless new ones have opened nearby, I don’t think so, but I could be wrong. Maybe it’s because of the Breach, or…” He took in a slow breath. “Do we think this is the Elder One?”

“From the Dark Future?” Cullen asked, frowning. “Yes – I suppose that fits. It doesn’t matter, though; we need to protect everyone. Do what you can for the trebuchets, but remember that we need you alive.”

Callum nodded.

“Take a team with you,” Cullen said. “I can’t stop you, but I can at least make sure you have protection.”

“I’ll take Bull, Cassandra, and Vivienne.”

Vivienne was a healer, of sorts. A Knight-Enchanter. Since they didn’t really have a healer – and he needed to remember to track down Anders at some point, Fenris’ anger be damned – it would be best to take her with them in the meantime, especially since these trebuchets – and apparently Callum’s hand – were so important.

_My head hurts. My hand hurts. This day started out so nice…_

Nice except for the fact Dorian was not here.

_Dorian…_

He was happy the mage wasn’t here. He didn’t need to be involved in this. He, Hawke and the others were probably safer where they were, far away from Haven. What an ironic name for this place, he thought dismally as he gathered his team, briefed them only with a few nods and hand gestured, and was happy to see they understood.

Words were not spoken because words were not needed. They all knew what was at stake. They all knew what they had to do. It was the only way they could possibly stand a chance against such a massive ambush.

If this truly was the Elder One, why attack now, like this? Why not attack when they were all at their most vulnerable, right after the Conclave? Why wait for them to gain influence and connections, begin to build their own army…? Why wait for that if the Elder One had all this power and soldiers himself?

_Stop thinking about it, your head is only going to hurt worse and you need to concentrate._

This was not just his life on the line here, but everyone in Haven. He had never been in charge of so many lives before – the feeling was more than little overwhelming. If he didn’t have a task to focus on at the moment, he was sure he’d probably shut down, attempt to hide away or something. He liked to think he wasn’t a coward, but usually it was just his own life he had to worry about, his own life at risk, but now…

_Hawke is the Inquisitor, not me. Why do I have this responsibility…_

These thoughts brought with it a fresh spurt of anger.

_Hawke should be here. He left._

He took Dorian and left. Did he know this was going to happen? Was he fleeing?

He took a moment to calm himself as they made their way to the first trebuchet. He knew Hawke would not betray them; he put too much time and effort into the Inquisition to do anything like that, plus from what Callum had seen of him, he was loyal to a fault. Callum thought of him as a decent friend.

So he could not blame Hawke. Hawke was doing his job as Inquisitor, clearing out the Templars and rebel mages from the Hinterlands. And this meant Dorian was not here to witness this, was not here to potentially die.

_They’ll all live._

Hawke, Fenris, Varric, Dorian… they would all live, and that was all that mattered.

He’d apologize to Dorian if he could. Apologize for not saying goodbye properly. Apologize for all the things he’d done wrong in their friendship, for leaving when he should have stayed, for not staying as safe as he promised Dorian he would…

_I’m sorry, Dori…_

It wasn’t fair, he decided as they stopped at the first trebuchet. It wasn’t fair because he had only been with Dorian less than a month. He finally realized what he wanted and now it would all end, because try as they might, there was no way they could defend themselves against such a massive army. Try as they might, many would still die, perhaps even all of them. If some managed to escape, it wouldn’t matter, as the Inquisition would again have to rise from ashes.

Callum would not let Haven die without a fight; this was his home, was as much his home as anywhere was, and he actually liked his life here despite all the new responsibilities. Despite being named the Herald of Andraste. Despite this mark on his hand. He still found he rather liked it here – liked sharing a cabin, and bed, with Dorian. Liked all of his new friends. Liked feeling like he actually had a purpose in life. Perhaps this was why he lived all those years ago. Perhaps this was why he survived and his family died. Maybe he was meant to be Herald of Andraste.

Thoughts like that brought with it their own problems, of course, which was why he tried not to think about it. Still, this place was home and had been for a little while now. Letting it die, along with all the people he was just starting to really know, did not seem fair. It wasn’t right. He would do what he could to stop it from happening.

_You must live, too._

He was the one with the mark; he had to live so he could close the rifts and eventually the Breach. If he died here, it all ended. But simply cowering away somewhere and letting others fight this battle didn’t seem right, either.

“What are those?” Bull inquired, snapping him from his thoughts, and he focused on where the qunari was looking. He frowned at the Templars charging toward them, except these were equipped with a faint red glow.

Ice hit his veins.

“Red lyrium…” he muttered, swallowing thickly.

_No… it can’t be… not so soon…_

It couldn’t be happening already. What they saw was a year in the future; it couldn’t be starting already! The thought made his head spin. If they all died here, that meant that Dark Future would truly come to pass.

Demons accompanied the Templars, pouring over the hills, a tidal wave of destruction. Callum eyed the trebuchet even as he gripped his daggers tightly. Belatedly he realized he didn’t have time to dress properly; his armor wasn’t all on, even though he always had light armor anyway. The fabric of his clothing would do little against a well-placed slice of a blade. He also didn’t wear his usual gloves which allowed him to better grip his daggers and ignore the chill of the air around him. As it was, his fingers would eventually go numb, and his hold on his blades would suffer.

_Doesn’t matter now._

“Aim the trebuchet,” he ordered of the man standing near the aiming mechanism, “we’ll keep them off your back.”

“Thank you,” the man all but cried, obviously fearful. He wasn’t a fighter; perhaps an engineer, blacksmith of sorts. He probably helped build these trebuchets, but that did not make him a fighter.

As he quickly attempted to resume aiming the trebuchet without the fear of being struck down from behind, Callum and the others formed a protective barrier around him.

Nothing would get past.

xXx

_Amatus, you promised to be careful._

_You assured me your fingers would be there to welcome me back to Haven._

It was a silly, trivial thing to worry about – someone’s fingers, a strange little promise filled with levity and laughter, though beneath the teasing had been sincerity. He and Callum joked before he left with Hawke, but in truth they both knew what they meant. They wished for the other to be careful as they could not watch each other’s backs.

And now Dorian was away when it mattered the most. The guilt at having failed Callum again kept eating away at him little by little. Soon nothing would be left except regret. Deep, raw regret because he failed.

He tried to imagine what he would find when he and the others reached Haven. He tried to picture himself seeing Haven in ashes, bodies strewn about. He tried to picture himself stepping over vaguely familiar corpses, scanning each face for someone he hoped not to find.

And then he tried to imagine himself standing there, looking down at the broken body of his friend, his _something_ , his _amatus_ …

Something fractured, splintered, little cracks forming in imperfect glass.

_Amatus…_

They had only been together less than a month. Less than a month ago, they kissed for the first time. Less than a month ago they decided to share a bed as whatever they were. He wasn’t sure if it could be classified as a relationship as they had not truly done anything.

And he had promised himself he would try to properly do things once he returned to Haven.

The thought gnawed at him. Chewed at the fringes at his mind, combining with the guilt and regret and this raw, aching feeling he couldn’t quite identify.

They had only been together, or whatever they were, for less than a month. But the feelings had been there for so much longer. For _years_. For years he had secretly pined, had buried mixed feelings he had for the rogue. For years he struggled to understand their friendship and his feelings and tried to make sense of everything.

And now that he’d finally done just that, and Callum seemed to return his feelings… it was all going to be torn away.

He would lose Callum.

Lose him before he ever really even had him.

And somehow that was more tragically raw than anything else.

He would lose everything and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

No matter how fast they traveled, they were always just a few hours behind the army marching toward Haven. Dorian could see them in the distance, see the smoke from the torches, but could do little to stop it. All he could do was stare in disbelief. Stare at the Breach, stare at the by-now familiar mountains, stare at what he knew waited for them ahead. The army had not reached Haven yet, surely, but even if they hadn’t it would still be hours before Dorian arrived. Before he and the others arrived and could help.

_But how can we help against this?_

There were only five of them; how could they help against any army? They could do nothing except aide their friends, the Inquisition, in this battle but ultimately they would fall. They would fail. Everyone would die.

Dorian’s jaw set firmly.

Somehow he was strangely okay with that. Dying for a cause was something he only read about in books back in Tevinter. They loved their stories, their heroes, but in all truth it was all lies. Lies because no one in Tevinter could ever hope to achieve anything like those people did in books. But here he was, with the Inquisition, attempting to restore order to Thedas and close the Breach, to stop this Elder One, whoever he was, with the Inquisitor and the Herald.

He could at least die for a cause, die with _amatus_.

All he needed to do was _get there_.

xXx

The first two trebuchets went off without a hitch, but the third was tougher by far. Enemies surrounded it – Red Templars of all things! Mixed with demons! – and defeating them was only getting tougher and tougher as their healing potions disappeared and their strength, and mana, waned.

_I can’t keep this up._

The thought was indeed worrisome, but Callum wasn’t a quitter. He kept moving, went invisible to the naked eye, and made it to the targeting mechanism for the third trebuchet. This meant he had to leave his team on their own, fighting everyone and watching his back while he aimed it, and that was something he truly hated doing.

He’d never had to rely on anyone before. This was… unsettling, knowing the three people he brought with him were the ones making sure he lived instead of dying in that moment. Breathtaking, that sensation of his life in someone else’s hands. Terrifying. And yet he felt so guilty as well, because he should have been helping them, not attempting to aim this thing. He should have been fighting by their side.

But the trebuchet was what mattered right now.

It took an eternity to aim it but finally it was finished just as he decloaked. He didn’t see the Templar behind him, had been focused on finishing this third trebuchet and couldn’t afford to think or focus on anything else. He didn’t know it until the pain hit him.

Someone obviously interfered with the attack because the blade didn’t go through him like it should have. Instead it left a grisly gash across his back, raw and burning as soon as it happened, the sudden onslaught of pain leaving him gasping out a choked breath as he went to his knees, vision blurring. Immediately Vivienne was there, whispering something into his ear, and soothing waves of healing magic flooded over him.

The wound hurt like the Void but wasn’t fatal, after she stopped most of the bleeding. It would require further attention, but right now they did not have the time.

For a moment it seemed the trebuchets worked – there was a lull in the fighting as an avalanche knocked a lot of the army off the cliffside, though how many died, it was too soon to tell. For a moment it looked like it might be over, like they actually had a chance of not only surviving this attack but winning it as well…

And then the dragon appeared.

A large dragon, larger than he’d ever seen, with this ominous red glow of its own. Its eyes were hungry and violent as it swooped down over them, breathing out a harsh string of fire onto the cabins and structures which had made Haven even the least bit inhabitable. It released a mighty roar and soared back up into the sky. Callum could hear Cullen’s voice not very far off, telling everyone to retreat back behind the walls and into the chantry, as it was the only building large enough to perhaps stand a chance against the beast, but it wouldn’t be able to stop both the dragon and the army.

Nevertheless, since he didn’t have a plan of his own, he fled back toward the chantry as Cullen commanded.

As he retreated, however, the dragon soared overhead again, releasing another lash of fire.

Callum stared as the cabin he had once called home went up in a blaze or orange and red. Another home lost to fire. For a moment he stood frozen, staring at the wreckage that had been his life for the past month or so, and then finally managed to turn back toward Cullen as the doors slammed shut, only after Cassandra tugged on his shoulder.

They fled into the chantry like mice scurrying for safety.

The pale boy, whose name he did not know, was standing there looking over a man with a gaping wound in his gut. The wound was bad and deep; he would be dead in minutes, and as Vivienne just healed Callum, there was no one around to heal him.

Regret clawed at Callum’s stomach.

_I did this. He’s going to die because of me._

Because Callum was stupid and let his guard down for a second, and a Templar got in a decent hit which left him needing what remained of Vivienne’s mana to heal him. And now she couldn’t save this man’s life. Would Callum’s wound have even been fatal? He didn’t know as, at the time, all he had been focused on was the pain, and then immediately afterward Vivienne was healing him. He had little say in the matter, but if he’d just been a little more focused on his surroundings… if he hadn’t let his guard down…

“The chantry won’t hold,” Cullen was saying to Cassandra as the pale boy helped the wounded man away. He seemed familiar, but it took a second to remember who he was.

Chancellor Roderick. The man who demanded to see him hanged when he first awoke with the mark on his hand. He didn’t look so vicious now, though, with the blood pouring from his gut and the regretful, pained look on his face. He looked more like a defeated man. Callum was thankful when the pale boy moved to sit Roderick down, obscuring his view of the man.

“Is there nothing we can do?” Callum asked, refusing to believe this was how it ended – with them all holed up in the chantry like the Maker would save them if they just huddled together enough.

_There are no such things as miracles._

Once upon a time, Callum believed in a higher power, a higher being. His family was very religious with its members joining either the chantry or the order. As a child he would sit on his father’s knee and listen to great stories of miracles and impossible feats all thanks to the Maker – which was why they needed to do what they could to honor the Maker and Andraste, by joining areas of the holy.

As a child he believed in miracles.

He had seen too much evil to believe in them now. His innocence died over a decade ago.

And yet he couldn’t believe it would just all end here. _Here_.

 _Kind of fitting, in a way,_ a part of his mind whispered. _Since this is sort of where it began – with the Breach and everything._

“So is there nothing we can do?” he asked, attempting to wipe away his thoughts but his fatigued mind plagued him nevertheless.

“We can release the final trebuchet,” Cullen said, his brown eyes steely as he held Callum’s gaze. It was a part of what Callum admired about the man – he never blinked, never wavered, always said what he meant. It was a rare quality these days.

“But… then more snow will fall,” Callum said, frowning. “And we’ll be covered.”

The snow had stopped just outside of Haven, but another avalanche would devaste the village and bury it in ice and snow. A cold, freezing death. He realized, belatedly, that he couldn’t feel his hands save for a mild tingling sensation. He didn’t bother looking down at them, though.

“We can go out our own way,” Cassandra sighed, pinching at the bridge of her nose with her gloved index finger and thumb. “And take them with us. That is your plan?”

“Unless you have a better one,” Cullen said grimly.

“Let us not be hasty,” Leliana said from behind them. Callum turned to find both her and Josephine approaching them. Josephine was a pretty lady with a sharp wit and strange sense of humor. Half the time Callum couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. Now she shared a sad smile with him.

_I would prefer not to die…_

If he died he would be breaking that promise to Dorian. Then again, it had been made in jest and good fun; nothing truly serious… and yet it was sincere as well. He could only hope Dorian forgave him after everything was over even as he wondered if he could forgive himself.

_I let this happen…_

_Roderick is going to die because of me…_

He looked down at his tingling left hand, uncurling it from his dagger just enough for him to see the green light emitting from the mark on his hand. Grimacing, he was at least a little grateful his hand was too cold to feel much of anything right now, or he was sure it would be throbbing viciously.

This mark on his hand was a curse.

All it brought with it were bad things, terrible things. Sure, he could close rifts, but what if he also caused the rifts in the first place? He still could not remember what happened at the Conclave, after all.

“Yes,” the pale boy suddenly said, sitting up straighter next to Roderick. All eyes turned to him as he then got to his feet and approached them. “That will work. There is a path out of here. He knows the way.”

Cullen glanced over Callum’s shoulder at the dying chancellor.

“I never thought I would be the only one alive to know of its existence…” Roderick said, sounding strangely distressed by the thought. He must have lost a lot of friends at the Conclave, and now he was the only one left.

“What are you talking about?” he asked quietly.

Roderick’s once angry stare was soft and almost thoughtful as it landed on Callum. “There is a passage beneath the chantry that leads away from here. We can sneak out through there…”

“And then use the final trebuchet,” Cullen said strategically, as always. He nodded sharply. “That could work, except for the dragon. We will need to distract it.”

A knot formed in Callum’s stomach.

_Why do I have a bad feeling about this…_

“We need to lure this ‘Elder One’ into the open as well,” Cassandra said with that accent of hers, eyes narrowed. “I do not know if another avalanche will kill him, or it, but at the very least it will buy us time.”

“I agree,” Cullen said with a nod. “What can we distract the Elder One and the dragon with, exactly?”

“Something they want,” Leliana said tactfully.

The knot in his stomach tightened, leaving him scowling even as his hand flashed a little greener.

“The Old One does not care about all of you,” the pale boy spoke up again, causing everyone to look at him once more. His eyes were hidden by his oversized hat which he kept at a bit of an angle, always partially shielding his face. “All he cares about is the Herald. He will kill anyone who gets in his way.”

The knot doubled even as Callum sighed. He knew this was going to happen.

_All those deaths… Everyone that didn’t make it inside the chantry…_

They died because of this mark on his hand. Because this ‘Elder One’ had it out for him even though he could have easily killed him at the Conclave, or shortly after, or even ambushed him at Redcliffe Castle. He definitely wouldn’t have seen that coming, after all.

“Me,” he found himself whispering hoarsely. “We’ll distract him with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, please let me know what you think 'cause I'm kinda nervous. Anyway, I will try to update soon but I feel a migraine coming on and so it's gonna be a painful few days most likely, so I wanted to go ahead and get this up before I'm too loopy to do anything. Thoughts?


	31. In Your Heart Shall Burn part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Elder One likes to monologue; hope is a fragile thing. Or - Callum meets Corypheus, and Dorian finds what used to be Haven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, so I looked a playthrough thingy on youtube for the dialogue here. I don't really like doing game dialogue but I felt it was necessary here as I wasn't very comfortable free-forming Corypheus, and it's better to just use the dialogue here, I think. With some of my own bits, too. This chapter came out longer than I planned, lol, but oh well. Next chapter might be part 3 or might be it's own little title, I'm not sure yet. Anyway, I'm loopy, so I apologize in advance for typos and everything! Thoughts?

Chapter Thirty: In Your Heart Shall Burn (Part 2)

 

Once, when Callum was little, he imagined himself standing up to a monster, head held high in stubborn, heroic resolve. As a boy he aspired to become something more – a legend. He thought of all the women who would swoon at him – even though at the time he had no interest in girls, or boys, or anything, but it was something that seemed to happen in heroic stories so he went with it – and thought of all the fame that would come with it. Perhaps then his elder siblings wouldn’t look down their noses at him. As the seventh child of House Trevelyan, it was pretty much written in stone that he would inherit little, wouldn’t marry, and would most likely become a Templar.

But he had dreams as a child. Dreams of being something more, something different entirely. Something his parents could see and think of him with pride. Pride in their youngest son. By the time he was born, his parents were old and tired; he spent most of his time reading or fighting with his siblings, generally driving his parents insane. His parents, by that time, had already seen enough to have pride in their elder kids; but he had to work for it. Work hard for it, too, because everything had already been done by his elder siblings.

And thus the fantasy began.

‘Schuyler the Heroic’, they would call him. Sarabeth would punch him in the shoulder good-naturedly and then hug him. His father would look at him and say: ‘I’m proud of you, my son.’

A smile flitted briefly across Callum’s face at the thought. In his mind’s eye it all looked so wonderful perfect. Not the part about being a hero – the part with his family there with him. It was what he wanted the most, he decided. Just to have his family back.

He could still do something heroic even if some would call it stupid.

There were plenty of arguments before he left the chantry on his own. He remembered them all clearly; everyone had something to say.

 _I won’t let you do this alone._ Cullen.

 _You are the Herald; we need you to close the rifts._ Cassandra.

 _Darling, perhaps we should think on this some more._ Vivienne.

 _I don’t know about this, Boss. Even for me this is crazy._ Bull.

 _Decide quickly._ Roderick.

Even dying he was still pushing things along, trying to hurry everything. At first he wanted to hurry Callum’s execution; now it was sending Callum out alone to distract the enemy long enough for the others to escape through the tunnels, before causing an avalanche to finally destroy Haven, along with the demons and Red Templars caught within its walls.

 _You’re going to your death._ Cullen.

 _It’s been fun._ Callum.

 _You are the only one who can close the rifts._ Cassandra.

 _Yes… but you guys will find a way to do that on your own._ Callum.

 _I’m with the Seeker on this one, Boss._ Bull.

At that point Callum raised a hand, silencing them as the green crackled to life from the mark. It still made everyone uneasy, not just himself; he noticed the way they all hid a flinch – except Bull, but that guy never flinched, so… - and quickly averted their gaze. They called him the Herald of Andraste but in truth they were nervous around him and that mark.

 _Get everyone out of here safely, Cullen._ Callum.

 _I… Yes, Callum._ Cullen, reluctantly.

After that he herded everyone away from the front entrance while Callum told the others to go with them so he could do this alone. There was no sense in them all dying, after all.

His lips pulled downward grimly.

_I’m going to die._

He knew this, of course, but it was the first time he let the thought really sink in. As with his attempt to close the Breach the first time, there was this sense of dread consuming him at the thought of himself no longer existing. However, there had been hope before; his attempt might kill him, but he could also live. Now there was no such hope.

If the Elder One and the dragon didn’t kill him, the avalanche he created would.

The walk toward the final trebuchet was cold, and not because of the snow.

As he walked he thought about Dorian. He thought about their odd friendship, or whatever it was they had. He thought about sleeping next to him at night. He thought about a lot of things, which only made regret claw viciously at his chest, forcing a lump into his throat.

_I don’t want to die._

He questioned why he lived sometimes, when his family died, but he never actually wanted to die. The thought of blinking out of existence was disturbing on a deeper level than he was prepared to access or comprehend. He wasn’t exactly _afraid_ of dying – he’d been too close to death too many times for that. Also, the act of dying was the easy part. There was pain at first, sure, but eventually there was a numb chill and finally blissful darkness.

It was what came after that he worried about.

The fact he would not continue to exist, that he would never laugh or smile or hug or kiss again, was what truly got to him. He would always have regrets. _Why didn’t I eat this instead of that this morning for my last meal. Why didn’t I look behind me. Who have I failed this time. I wanted to love before this. I wanted to avenge my family. Why didn’t I visit Ostwick one more time._

A million regrets with no way to fix it.

He had regrets now, but different ones.

_Why didn’t I go with Dorian anyway._

_Why didn’t I force Hawke to wait._

_Why didn’t I cherish the cabin and Dorian’s presence more._

_Why…_

He took in a slow breath, forcing the thoughts away. He couldn’t focus if he kept thinking about it. He needed to do what he could to stay alive long enough to give everyone a chance to escape, and to then release the final trebuchet. And yet his mind raced, giving into little worries such as what his death would be.

Would he burn alive, like his family, cut down by dragon fire?

A blade to the stomach or chest?

Buried under a mountain of snow?

Would he be conscious for it, would he feel anything?

How long would he linger before he died?

_No. Stop it._

Again he forced the thoughts away. Thankfully, this time, they were forced to stay away as a dragon roared overhead. His head snapped up to find the dragon from early, massive in size, come swooshing down from the sky. As it released a string of fire he jumped to the side but wasn’t fast enough as something exploded next to him, triggered by the fire.

He went sprawling a few feet, rolling to a stop on his back, staring up at the dark gray sky mixed with green, dazed. After a few blinks he struggled to his feet, shaking off the aches as his muscles protest any movement, and felt a chill creep up his spine. Instantly he spun around, as he knew what it felt like to have someone behind him, staring at him. He knew that feeling all too well; had been trained to use that instinctual knowledge to his advantage.

 _Something_ walked through the fire surrounding him. He realized now a circle of fire surrounded him, with no way out. Thankfully it also left him next to the trebuchet.

_This is it._

The thing walking toward him had half a face, red all over. It was also very tall, and not just because Callum himself was short. No, this thing was taller than even Bull, and thing with claw-like hands and this angry glare on its face as it continued walking toward Callum.

It was the walk that got to him the most, he was certain.

It wasn’t quick; this thing, this _Elder One_ , was taking his time. He knew he did not need to hurry. That spoke of his confidence in his ability to easily overpower Callum, and the rogue didn’t doubt it one bit.

The red shards sticking out of the thing’s face left him staring as the Elder One came closer.

He spun, startled, when the dragon landed behind him. It snarled at him but didn’t attack, merely making sure he could not escape. It occurred to him then that the Elder One was possibly controlling it; or maybe they just had an understanding of sorts. It never occurred to him that his death might be ‘eaten alive by dragon’. The Elder One looked like a darkspawn. Could this dragon be an archdemon?

He couldn’t think about that right now.

“Pretender,” came a deep voice from behind him. He spun to find the Elder standing a few feet away. Its voice was deep yet smooth, and another chill snaked up his spine. “You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.”

Anger stirred inside of him briefly, leaving him glaring at the thing. “Whoever you are, I’m not afraid of you.”

“Words mortals often hurl at the darkness,” the Elder One said, unimpressed. “Once they were mine. They are lies.”

_Once they were…?_

Did that mean this guy was human before? Or whatever, but not a darkspawn?

“Know me,” it continued. “Know what you have pretended to be.”

_What does that even mean?_

Callum wasn’t _pretending_ to be anything.

“Exalt the Elder One. The will that is Corypheus.”

 _Corypheus_ …?

Was that its name?

Did darkspawn have names?

Confusion was a dark tendril in his mind. Maybe Dorian would know more about this, or, well, anyone really. History had never been Callum’s strong suit so he would admit he didn’t know much about darkspawn. There was a Blight about a decade or so ago, but he had no real part in it as he’d been training all over. He’d fought darkspawn before, sure, but…

_Focus, Callum._

He silently counted minutes in his head. When everyone was safely away they would light something in the sky, something to let him know they were safe, and then he would release the final trebuchet. If he hadn’t been mortally wounded by then, he would die in the avalanche. He just hoped it’d be quick.

Corypheus was glaring at him. “You will kneel.”

“I will not,” he said firmly. “All of this for me, Cor? I’m flattered, truly. And here I didn’t get you anything! Thought I’ve heard everyone loves fruit baskets, sadly you burned everything here, so-”

“You will be silent,” Corypheus hissed, angrily, and the dragon snarled behind Callum.

Callum took in a slow breath. “Why are you here? What do you want from us?”

_What do you want from me?_

“I ask for nothing,” Corypheus said, lifting this odd orb structure in his hand, “because it is not in your power to give. “But that will not stop me.”

The orb flickered with a red light. “I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now.”

Pain exploded in his hand and up his arm, worse than it had been in a long time, when he first woke up after the Conclave. Agony ripped through him like his arm was literally eaten alive by fire, and he crashed to his knees, cradling his hand toward him as he gritted his teeth, refusing to give this darkspawn the satisfaction.

“It is your fault, ‘Herald’,” Corypheus said disdainfully, standing over him with his arm outstretched, the orb and his other hand aglow. “You interrupted a ritual years in the making, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose.”

“Its… what?” Callum asked, confusion gnawing at him through the pain. He took in a breath and pushed back to his feet, attempting to ignore the fire in his arm and hand. “You’re making not sense. What’s the Anchor? What ritual? What purpose?”

“I do not know how you survived. But what you mark as ‘touched’, what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.”

_Heavens…?_

The pain ignited anew, burning, crippling, but he kept his footing as he wouldn’t go down again, not when he had to watch the sky as well as Corypheus and his dragon. The dragon released this sound behind him, stepping closer as the pain showed on his face.

_Oh, yeah, sure, dragon, just laugh at my pain why don’t you. Asshole._

“And you used the anchor to undo my work. The gall!”

“I never asked for this,” Callum said through clenched teeth. “I never fucking _wanted_ this. Take it back if it’s so bloody important to you!”

He took in a slow breath. He needed to make this last longer. That meant keeping Corypheus talking.

“But why… Why did the Divine die? Why the explosion? For this chaos?”

Corypheus was unmoved. “The ‘chaos’ will empower me. And ensure we no longer beg at the feet of the invisible.”

_Of course, power hungry. Why are the bad guys always power hungry? Why can’t you just crave something like cake or romance or fuck, even flowers?_

It was easier to think like this than to worry about what Corypheus meant. If he just thought the Elder One was crazy, this would be easier to endure.

_Just a little longer, Callum._

It hit him then.

These were to be his last moments alive. These moments, arguing with an insane darkspawn and his dragon.

The laughter bubbled up inside of him, breaking free of his mouth through clenched teeth. Once he started he couldn’t stop, his breaths shaking as he continued to laugh in the darkspawn’s face. The dragon snarled behind him but he didn’t care; if it was going to attack him it would have done it by now.

“All this for power,” he said, shaking his head. “Real original there, Cory or whatever the fuck your name is. You’re a bloody darkspawn!”

“Silence,” Corypheus said, and again the pain was excruciating.

It rolled over him, a tsunami of agony, and he went to his knees again, unable to stop himself. A second later Corypheus was at his side, clawed hand snaking around his left wrist leaving the pain worsening, before he dragged Callum up, orb in his other hand.

He didn’t stop at Callum’s height, though; no, he kept pulling him upward until his own arm was above his head, leaving Callum a few feet off the ground as the grip on his aching wrist tightened. This left him roughly at eye level with Corypheus and that intense stare with red-brown eyes.

“I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the old gods of the Empire in person.”

His grip tightened. Bone splintered and fractured, shooting a fresh wave of pain through his arm, leaving him gasping.

“I found only chaos and corruption,” Corypheus spat angrily. “Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more.”

The grip tightened once more, fueled by Corypheus’ anger, crushing his wrist.

“I gathered the will to return under no name but my own. To champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world.”

_He thinks he’s helping?!_

Why did bad guys always think this was _right_? That murder was right?

That destroying the world, _to save it_ , was right?

“ _Beg_ that I succeed,” Corypheus said, leaning in closer to speak directly in Callum’s face, hot breath flowing across his cheeks. “For I have seen the throne of the gods and _it was empty_.”

The next thing Callum knew, he was flying through the air only to have his already wounded back slam harshly against the wood of the final trebuchet. The air knocked out of him, he slid to the ground, dazed and aching, clutching at his broken and crushed wrist, his hand still glowing green.

“The Anchor is permanent,” Corypheus sneered, approaching him again. “You’ve spoiled it with your stumbling.”

“No,” he wheezed. “No, it’s not permanent, take it back!”

_I don’t want this forever!_

_You idiot, you won’t be alive for much longer, deal with it._

He took in a slow breath, composing himself through the pain and the revelation.

He got back to his feet, reaching for his daggers which had fallen next to him. He stood ready to do what was needed, eying the sky, hoping he hadn’t missed the signal. He could only wait so long; he would die before he could release it otherwise. He just hoped this was enough time.

“So be it,” Corypheus continued. “I will begin again. Find another way to give this world the nation – and _god_ – it requires.”

Something lighted in the sky behind Corypheus, in the distance. Callum’s stomach clenched because this was it.

His last moment alive.

“And you,” Corypheus said, unaware. “I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You _must_ die.”

Callum took in a slow breath, pushing away from the wood he had been leaning against, holding his daggers at the ready. “You like to monologue, don’t you? Maker’s breath, that was boring. Your arrogance blinds you. Good to know.” He smiled. “If I’m dying, then, well, so be it, but I’d like to go out my own way if you don’t mind. Preferably taking you with me, of course.”

With that he spun and kicked the release to the trebuchet, and the final blow hit the mountainside.

In the chaos that followed, he noted brief surprise on Corypheus’ disfigured face before the dragon _grabbed_ Corypheus and flew into the sky, away from the incoming snow.

Callum didn’t have time to worry about that, though.

His survival instinct kicked in, and though he knew it was futile, he ran and dove, collapsing through some unseen wooden structure into cold and darkness.

The pain was intense but short-lived.

Consciousness did not even have the decency to say goodbye before it vanished.

xXx

Haven was gone.

Literally – there was nothing left except snow. A mountain of snow atop where the village once stood.

It had taken longer than they thought to get to Haven, since the mountain paths here were unstable due to some kind of avalanche, but eventually they made it to Haven. Or, rather, where it used to be.

Dorian stared in disbelief, heart clenched tightly in his chest, a lump in his throat as the stared at the white blanket before him, even in the dead of night. All he could see of Haven was the top of the chantry, and even it was just barely poking out of the snow. The village was literally buried.

“Maker,” Varric breathed incredulously.

“Do you think anyone made it out?” Blackwall asked worriedly.

“I’m sure everyone’s fine,” Hawke said calmly. “The trebuchets were made for this; to cause small avalanches, but too many could… do this. I’m sure they did this knowingly.”

“Or that army did this,” Fenris said. “And no one made it – do not strike me, dwarf!”

Varric had apparently elbowed him. He had pointy elbows.

But truly all Dorian could think about was the fact Haven was gone. Callum was in Haven. Everyone was in Haven. Did they make it out, or were they all dead? Did everyone die under a mountain of snow? Was this intentional, caused by Cullen and his men, or was this the work of the Elder One and that army, and the dragon?

Either way – anyone caught under all of that snow would not live. They would be crushed by the weight, or were trapped and froze to death. Either way – dead.

_Dead… Amatus…_

Dorian dragged the heel of his hand over his face, taking in a shaky breath.

_Why wasn’t I here…_

He never should have left. He should have stayed in Haven, gone with Callum to Val Royeaux. He should have done _something_. Anything other than going with Hawke and leaving Callum alone to _this_.

“We should look for survivors,” Varric said quietly.

“We can’t dig through all this snow,” Fenris pointed out.

“Fenris is right,” Hawke said softly. “But maybe they weren’t in the avalanche. Maybe they’re further away.”

Dorian took in a slow breath. It wasn’t much, but at least it was hope that not everyone died. That Callum didn’t die.

“Yes,” he said, voice coming out more raw than he intended, “let’s look around.”

Looking around would be futile, he knew, as there would be little to find in all this snow, the temperature forever dropping. Eventually they would have to make camp; the frigid temperature of the Frostback Mountains was more pronounced without the small village of Haven and a cabin with a warm fire… and a bed with a warm body softly breathing next to him…

He closed his eyes.

_Enough of that, Dorian. It won’t help._

He knew that, of course, but knowing it and accepting it were two very different things.

Hawke led the way around where the village once stood. Dorian could only imagine what happened here. How long had it been since this happened? How long had it been since Haven was attacked? Even if people made it out of here alive they might have frozen by now, without a fire.

The battle was long over, the air still and quiet around them save for the shrill whistle of the chill surrounding them.

There was no sign of the enemy, the army, the dragon… were they, too, buried, or did they escape? Were they the cause of this?

_It doesn’t matter. It is what it is._

_That which has happened, happened. Nothing you do or say will ever change that,_ his father once told him. He was right.

They trekked through the snow for who knew how long; honestly Dorian was too tired to keep track. All he knew was it felt like an eternity since he had left Haven. An eternity since the last time he saw anyone who stayed there. Since he saw Callum. Since…

_“Farewell, Dorian. Don’t forget to keep that shoulder warm. I’ve grown quite fond of it, you see.”_

_“Very well,_ Amatus _, as long as you keep those fingers nimble.”_

Since that goodbye which was less than a goodbye, filled with humor to hide the sincerity, the worry. Dorian had never been very good at expressing his feelings, especially worry. In Tevinter, caring about someone could have terrible results. Marriages weren’t formed by feelings, only attributes. He didn’t have much experience in that regard.

As time passed and they continued walking, finding nothing but snow and chilly air, the tiny bit of hope he couldn’t stop himself from having, began to flicker and die. No one could have survived this if they were in Haven at the time of the avalanche. Surely the army would have cut down anyone they found fleeing the scene, anyway.

Hope was a fragile, raw thing. Perhaps the most dangerous feeling of all. It was why Dorian adored optimists; they saw the hope in everything even if it all came crashing down around them. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Couldn’t bring himself to hope only to be crushed time and time again. It happened too many times in Tevinter when he was younger. Eventually he turned rather cynical, scoffing at the mere notion of hope.

And yet he waited seven months in the hopes that Callum would return through that portal near his hut. He waited another year after that to find the rogue again. When he concerned Callum, he realized, hope was a fine thread he couldn’t bear to cut.

And now this.

He didn’t want to hope. Wanted to crush that feeling now than to feel all that despair and disappointment later when he learned the truth. Yet he could not bring himself to give up, because Callum promised to be waiting with his nimble, talented fingers just as Dorian promised to keep his shoulder warm and safe. His shoulder was fine, therefore Callum had to be okay as well.

Callum, Cullen, Cassandra, everyone in Haven… they all had to be okay. Though he had not been there long, he had grown surprisingly attached to everyone. But then war could do that to people, he knew, and this was a war the likes of which he had never seen. The likes of which the world had never seen, demons slipping through the rifts and the Breach to slowly consume the world.

Callum was their only hope of closing the rifts, of permanently sealing the Breach.

Without him…

Memories of the Dark Future flitted through his mind, salt in open wounds.

If they lost Callum, the war was over, and they all lost. The world would slip into destruction and chaos with no way to stop it.

Therefore it made sense to hope Callum was alive, for the sake of Thedas.

But on a personal level…

“What’s that?” Blackwall asked, shattering the silence.

Dorian blinked and looked toward where the Grey Warden was pointing, squinting through the snow flying around them. It seemed the mountain itself was angry at what happened, having this snow storm in the wake of the fall of Haven.

“It’s… a cave opening? Of some kind?” Hawke asked, walking toward it.

“Did you know that was here?” Varric asked.

“I did not,” Hawke replied with a sigh.

“That’s… not a cave,” Blackwall said as they got closer. “It’s a structure. A tunnel?”

The wooden structure opened into the edge of a large hill, just visible through the snow. If it was indeed a tunnel… then maybe…

“Do you suppose it leads back to Haven?” Dorian asked, hope flickering briefly inside of him again though he tried to stamp it down.

_Do not think… Do not hope…_

“Maybe,” Hawke said. “If so, then…”

“Maybe they made it out,” Varric finished for him.

“We should investigate,” Fenris said. “Besides, we need to get out of the snow.”

This was true. The mountains were cold during the day, but at night it was so much worse. Dorian was getting more used to the chill after being away from sunny Tevinter for so long, but that did not mean he enjoyed it. He rather despised the cold.

They entered through the mouth of the tunnel.

The tunnel was long, dark and cold. Hawke raised his hand, a small fireball flickering to life just above his hand, giving them light. Fenris walked just behind him, keeping a safe distance from the flames and letting Hawke lead, but sticking close to him anyway. Dorian walked behind Fenris while Varric and Blackwall brought up the rear.

Time passed, though Dorian was not sure how much. Blackwall suggested making camp, out of the snow storm.

They stopped, but something tugged at Dorian’s mind, calling to him. Telling him to go deeper into the tunnel. It was this little thought that kept gnawing at the fringes of his mind until he finally sighed and spoke of this to Hawke, telling the Inquisitor he was going to travel in a little deeper, to investigate.

“I’ll go with you,” Varric offered.

“Aren’t those little legs of yours tired?” Dorian asked, though secretly he was grateful.

“How do you think they got this little, Sparkler? I like to travel. I used to be as tall as a qunari.”

Dorian smiled despite himself, despite that raw, aching _something_ clawing at his chest. “Unlikely,” he said.

“Be careful,” Hawke sighed, clearly not liking this idea.

“We’ll be fine, your Inquisitorialness,” Varric said with a wink.

Dorian shook his head, summoned his own ball of flame to light the way, and then began walking deeper into the tunnel.

xXx

Time passed.

Dorian wasn’t sure how much. All he knew was he was freezing, and the further they got, the more this seemed like a bad idea. Nevertheless he pushed onward, knowing it would gnaw at him if he gave up now. He needed to see where this led, if it did in fact lead back to Haven. He wasn’t sure what he thought he would find, but he had to keep going.

_If this does truly lead to Haven…_

Then there was still hope. Hope everyone made it out. Hope Callum still drew breath. Hope… Just hope.

And it had been a long time since Dorian wished for something this fervently.

_Just let them all live. Let them have escaped._

And then, more fervently:

 _Let him live_.

“I don’t know about this, Sparkler,” Varric said after a while, voice laden with exhaustion. “I think it’s time to turn back for the night. We can try again after we’ve had some sleep.”

They had been traveling nonstop since they discovered the army – and dragon – moving toward Haven. Dorian’s own legs were tired so he knew it must have been worse for the dwarf since he had to take twice as many steps. And yet he couldn’t turn around.

He shook his head. “You can turn back,” he said quietly. “The way is safe.”

“Sparkler…”

“I will only go a little farther,” Dorian promised.

Varric sighed. “If I leave now you’ll get yourself killed, most likely. What do you expect to find, anyway?”

“I… do not know,” he said, shaking his head.

“Then why are we doing this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well… good to know there’s no reason for us to do this.”

Dorian shrugged. “Leave, if you wish. I will keep going.”

“We’ll find him, Sparkler,” Varric said softly, voice sincere, and a lump formed in Dorian’s throat.

“Of course we will,” he said with false levity. “We’ll find everyone and have a nice big party.”

“I do enjoy parties.”

“As do I. And fine wine, not that swill from the tavern.”

Varric’s laugh echoed around the walls as they kept walking. “Now you’re speaking my language, Sparkler.”

Dorian sighed. “When will you cease with that absurd name?”

“You know you like it.”

“I do not.”

“I could always call you lover-boy,” Varric pointed out.

“Do not.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?”

Dorian took in a slow breath. “Are you asking seriously?”

“Yes.”

“I… do not know.”

“So you two aren’t together?”

“I do not know what we are,” Dorian said quietly.

“We’ll find him.”

_You do not know that. If he is buried in the snow…_

Then they would never find him. It wasn’t like the snow actually really melted around here, and especially not quickly. If it ever did melt, all that would be left was a frozen body or bones.

Either way it would be far too late.

“If I ever write this into a book,” Varric was saying when he tuned back into the conversation, “I’m going to say that I did _not_ shiver until my nose fell off.”

“Yes, that is rather absurd.”

“How much farther are we going, Sparkler?”

“Leave if you want.”

“I think I’ll stick around.”

Dorian shook his head as they kept moving.

And moving.

And moving.

Until the tunnel narrowed and lit up a little. He raised his gaze toward the ceiling to find a hole in it, white snow piling on top of it. Even at night the snow made everything brighter, letting him see a little more clearly now.

And as his gaze lowered toward the ground beneath that…

“ _Amatus_!”


	32. Bits and Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callum wakes; Hawke and Callum discuss Corypheus; Dorian missed Callum's nimble fingers. Or - literally bits and pieces. Or in other words, basically filler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, sorry for the delay. I am so far from this point in the game it's not even funny; I might have to play as my other character that's a little further ahead, even though he's an elf xD And I wanted to romance Bull or Cassandra with him. But oh well. Anyway - this chapter is a little shorter, at 3.3k. I'm not sure about some parts, as it moves kind of quickly, but oh well. Thoughts?

Chapter Thirty-One: Bits and Pieces

 

Bits and pieces of memory were raw and jagged things.

A moment of pain here, panic there. Darkness above all else, a cold numbness setting in, and finally nothing at all.

It was at this point Callum assumed he died. He didn’t even have the strength to find the irony in the fact he would die from the cold and post-avalanche injuries instead of the actual avalanche itself, or the dragon or Corypheus. His last thought was fleeting, and he could give it no true name, only that it was there, in the dark crevices of his mind before the darkness set in, accompanied by its own sacred chill.

Then suddenly consciousness returned with startling clarity, forcing him into awareness even as pain threatened to steal his consciousness away almost instantly. He gasped and writhed as warm hands touched his cool flesh, pained, pathetic little whimpers escaping his dry lips as his eyes opened to mostly darkness. A figure hovered over him, soothing words flying down at him with lips pressed against his temple. Being raised from the ground was breathtaking in all the wrong ways; he gasped, and cringed, and was just pathetic all around.

“Hush, _Amatus_ ,” said the warm voice, and he found himself instantly relaxing into the warm body even though the heat was fire to his half-frozen flesh.

His eyelids fluttered. Where was he?

“Varric is getting the others,” said the voice. “You will be fine.”

There was a cold that was less than cold. Or more. He wasn’t sure. By this point he was warm.

Warm and tired.

So tired.

“ _Amatus_ – with – you dare,” said the voice, but the words were echoes, there one moment and gone the next. Consciousness was fleeting, fickle.

_I’m so tired…_

So tired and warm and the voice was so familiar and warm. Safe. He was safe. That was all he knew in that moment. This voice was safe.

“Dooriii,” he managed to push past reluctant lips.

“I’m here,” Dorian said softly, and Callum struggled to regain clarity and blink the grogginess away, but it still lingered, threatening to consume him if he didn’t focus. Didn’t focus on Dorian. “You’re half frozen – _kaffas_ , what did you get yourself into this time? I swear I cannot leave you alone for a minute without you nearly getting yourself killed. This is truly a terrible habit, _Amatus_.”

Despite himself, Callum giggled.

“Are you… laughing at me?”

“N-No,” he said softly, unable to raise his voice more than a whisper. “You just… are so… d-damn cute when you’re mad.”

Dorian’s brow furrowed into a scowl. Callum could just make it out in the dim lighting as Dorian held him to him. “You do not get to say such things when I am cross with you. You promised to keep your fingers safe.”

“My fingers are fine,” he said.

“Half frozen is not ‘fine’,” Dorian said before he sighed heavily. “You’ve also lost some blood, _Amatus_.”

“O-Oh.”

That explained the dizziness, at least.

“When you recover I expect a full explanation of what happened, _in detail_ , and why you are half dead and half frozen in some dark tunnel. You couldn’t pick a more obscure location.”

Listening to Dorian’s voice was soothing.

“If you do not keep your eyes open I will hate you,” Dorian threatened.

“Not… true…” Callum breathed, struggling to keep his eyes open but it was so incredibly hard. He was so tired, and he just wanted to sleep…

Something hit his cheek. He startled, eyes momentarily fluttering.

“I said stay awake,” Dorian said, voice a little rougher this time, thick with something. “The others will be here any minute.”

“Dori…”

“Do not ‘Dori’ me,” Dorian hissed, glaring down at him. “You will stay awake even if I have to force you, do you hear me?”

“S-ure, Dori…”

_Always hear you…_

_Just gonna… sleep…_

“Callum, I am serious,” Dorian snapped, fingers tapping impatiently against his numb cheek. “ _Fasta vass_ , you will stay awake!”

“Mm…”

Pain, in his arm. A tight grip, a vice. He blinked hazily at the blurry figure in front of him, mind too dazed to think clearly.

“Stay awake.”

His eyelids had other ideas. They refused to open after a blink that turned into the first whispers of sleep.

“ _Amatus-_ ”

Darkness again, fragmented thoughts scattered.

xXx

When he next woke, it was to confusion. Hazy thoughts lingering at the edge of his mind, mixed with the memory of fear and panic, of pain and cold, then blissful darkness. Now he woke to voices, argumentative. Angry. Fussing. And then a soothing voice in his ear, a touch here or there, then more darkness.

When he finally woke enough to think clearly, it was painful. Everything ached. Every joint, every muscle – stiff, rigid, unmoving. Aching. He grimaced even before opening his eyes.

For once there was relative silence. Voices in the distance, but no more arguing. And he was surprisingly alone. His brows furrowed as he struggled to recall what happened, but kept drawing a blank. Something about fear, death… falling, freezing, _so tired_ …

And Dorian. Something about Dorian.

Maybe he was hurt. If Callum was hurt, then…

He struggled to push his elbows under him and rise off the small cot on which he rested. The tent was warm enough but there was little it could actually do against the frosty air of the snow-capped mountains. He shivered, discovering he had a newfound hatred for the cold after almost freezing to death in… a tunnel? Yes. A tunnel. A tunnel from Haven.

 _Haven_.

Haven was destroyed. An army, Red Templars… a dragon. _Corypheus_.

Bile rested hot and heavy in the back of his throat. He swallowed it down and got to his feet, nearly collapsing under the weight of himself as his body refused to cooperate. After a moment of shifting and moving a little, he managed to regain control of his limbs. He was clad in warm clothing – a coat, blankets, etc. – but the blankets fell away and something itched beneath his clothes. Taking in a breath to prepare himself for the chill, he lifted up his shirt and the front of his coat to look down at his abdomen. There was bandaging there, winding around his torse.

Confusion, by this point, was normal.

He released a slow breath. No wonder it hurt to move. Bruised ribs, maybe? Broken ribs?

He hated anything having to do with the ribs.

The tent flap opened easily as his fingers pressed against the thin fabric. Wind threatened to propel him off his already shaky feet. He quickly looked around the campsite, finding a lot of tents. Everyone that fled Haven, using the tunnels, wound up here, he knew. He could see people sitting in small circles around several fires, trying to keep warm and plan their next move.

Standing over a table was Cullen, Cassandra, Leliana and Josephine. Arguing. Callum almost smirked at the thought; he heard them bickering even when he could barely stay awake more than a few seconds.

“He lives,” came a voice from behind him, and he spun to find Varric standing there, arms folded across his chest, smirking at him.

“Hey,” Callum said. “Guess so. What, um… happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Kind of,” he said. “I mean, I remember a dragon, Corypheus, and then fall-”

Varric’s eyes hardened and his arms dropped from their casually folded position. “Corypheus?” he asked, voice a whisper.

Callum frowned, confused. “Um… yes? Some darkspawn that thinks it’s not a darkspawn?”

Varric looked away. “I see.”

“You know something,” Callum whispered. “Don’t you.”

“Glad to see you’re okay, Dicey. Sparkler hasn’t been the same without you.”

_Sparkler…_

“Where is he?” Callum asked, realizing this was a change of subject, but he would let Varric keep his secrets for now. Right now all that mattered was making sure Dorian was okay. “He’s okay, right?”

“Sparkler’s fine,” Varric said, waving a hand dismissively. “He’s actually sleeping right now. Took a lot to pry him away from you, I might add. Take from that what you will.”

Callum smiled fondly at the thought. “Where is he?”

Varric gestured behind Callum. “That tent over there is where you’ll find your sleeping Tevinter.”

Callum nodded. “Thanks. And this isn’t over, Varric. I want to know all about Corypheus. That asshole has it out for me.”

And then his stomach churned.

_“The Anchor is permanent.”_

_No… don’t let it be permanent…_

He couldn’t do this forever. He couldn’t have this forever. He just…

_Please… not forever._

He didn’t realize he was moving until he opened the flap to a tent and found himself looking down at Dorian’s sleeping form in a sleepskin on the ground. He smiled down at the mage, happy he was okay, though he did look exhausted. There were dark rings under his eyes and frown lines on his face even as he slept semi-peacefully.

He wasn’t sure what he was doing here, honestly. He wanted to check on Dorian but he couldn’t wake him. He chewed on his lower lip, dragging in a slow breath as he looked down at his left hand. It was covered by the gloves he wore, but he knew it was still there – waiting, maybe glowing faintly, and it was permanent.

He ran a hand across his face and then through his hair, taming the tangles a little. He needed to shave and a haircut, he knew. Strange to focus on the little things, but in all reality, he hadn’t expected to be able to worry about the little things after his confrontation with Corypheus.

He fully expected to die. Was prepared to die, had accepted it.

Living after accepting his death was… bizarre.

He had no other way to describe it.

Unusual. Complex. _Breathtaking._

_I’m alive._

He breathed in the fresh mountain air, standing there in Dorian’s tiny tent, and he was alive.

xXx

He wasn’t sure how long he lingered in Dorian’s tent, but the mage needed his rest and so eventually he left. Or, rather, Hawke showed up and dragged him out of the tent to talk business with him.

“I’m so sorry,” Hawke said. “I should have been here.”

Callum shrugged. “You couldn’t have known it was coming. No one did.”

Hawke sighed and shook his head, running a hand through his dark hair, blue eyes downcast. “Still… I feel terrible. I mean, I’m the Inquisitor, right? I should have been there. And Corypheus…”

“You know him too?”

“Of course,” Hawke sighed. “Varric and I were friends in Kirkwall, remember? So of course we both know him.”

“Right. Sorry. So what is he? Who? Why?”

“From what we’ve gathered, he’s a magister brought back to life by some kind of… magic, I guess. Tainted by the Blight, of course. He doesn’t see himself as a darkspawn, though. We… faced him, once. He was being kept in a prison, of sorts, and we… well, we thought we killed him.”

“Well, he seems rather alive to me, no offense.”

Hawke scowled. “I know that. But I swear to you, he was dead. We checked, we waited, he was dead.”

“And yet he’s alive.”

“I don’t know how.”

Callum shrugged. “So we have an old-ass darkspawn magister, who is in denial that he’s darkspawn, attempting to take over Thedas because of some mystical ‘there are no gods’ bullshit.”

“Sums it up,” Hawke agreed.

“Wonderful. Anything else?”

“He was behind the Conclave.”

“Yeah… he mentioned that.”

“What else did he mention?” Hawke asked curiously.

Callum shrugged, looking away. “Just crazy stuff about trying to take over the heavens. He was offended that I didn’t die at the Conclave.”

_And that I apparently stole his Anchor, or whatever the fuck that is. And it’s permanent._

“Anything else?”

“No, not really.”

“You’re hiding something.”

“No, I’m not,” he said, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter anyway. What are we going to do? We can’t just hide here. He’ll find us again; he got away with his dragon. He can control it.”

“We’re thinking it’s an archdemon.”

 _Fuck_.

“Great,” Callum sighed. “Because why not, right? Just keep heaping it on. Well, if it’s an archdemon, then we need the Wardens, right? Except aren’t they all missing right now? Except Blackwall, that is.”

Hawke nodded. “Yes, that’s worrisome. We need to find them.” He hesitated then, chewing briefly on his lower lip. A quirk Callum knew all too well.

“Spit it out,” he said. “Tomorrow’s too late.”

“I know a Warden. Stroud. He’s a… He’s a friend. From Kirkwall. He’s in hiding right now.”

“Oh,” Callum said, surprised. “So we know another Grey Warden. That improves our options to two Grey Wardens. Something, at least.”

“He might know what’s happening, and where the Grey Wardens are.”

“How do we contact him?”

xXx

_Callum is alive._

Not only alive, but awake and standing in front of Dorian. And Dorian was just staring at him like a complete idiot. He wasn’t often speechless, but this was one of those rare occasions. They seemed to only happen when Callum was involved.

“You’re awake,” he said dumbly.

_Obviously, Dorian. I doubt he is sleepwalking._

Callum smiled weakly. “Hey,” he said softly. He held up his hands, flexing his fingers for Dorian to see. “My fingers are safe and nimble. And your shoulder?”

And just like that, the knot in Dorian’s stomach eased, if only slightly, and the laughter which spilt from his mouth was genuine, if not a touch hysterical, but he would worry about that later. Right now he was relieved, and happy, and multitude of a million other emotions he couldn’t identify, all of them rolled together in one giant mess.

“My shoulder is safe,” he assured the rogue, watching as Callum’s smile grew, becoming more sincere.

And then Callum was closing the distance between them. Dorian smiled as the rogue entered his personal space, his lips easily connecting with rogues as if that was how things were meant to be – like they were made for each other, drawn to each other, like this was meant to happen. It was so easy; how did Callum make such affection look so easy, when Dorian struggled to comprehend what he was even feeling, and there the rogue was, acting on it without a second thought.

“ _Amatus,_ ” he breathed when their mouths finally disconnected, but Callum remained only mere centimeters from Dorian’s face.

“Glad you’re okay,” Callum said, like the words came so naturally. “You didn’t get attacked, did you?”

“No, we did not get attacked,” he said quietly.

“That’s good, I guess.”

“You seem to have a habit of almost dying on me. It is insulting.”

Callum smirked, stepping a little more away, a few inches now separating them. “You’re insulted because I almost died?”

“ _Again_ ,” Dorian emphasized.

And it was true; this was yet another occasion Callum placed himself in danger and nearly lost his life. First he showed up bleeding out on Dorian’s floor, then the situation with the blood mage and traveling to Redcliffe, then confronting Alexius, and now this.

 _This_ , which was crazy, insane, _idiotic_.

“You tried to sacrifice yourself,” Dorian said, surprised himself at the accusatory lilt to his voice.

Callum blinked, smirk dying away. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I had to. It was me Corypheus wanted, and we needed time for everyone to get away through the tunnels.”

Dorian took in a slow breath. “You fully expected to die, didn’t you.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement, and Callum merely shrugged, looking away. So careless of his own life. It was truly infuriating.

“I can’t keep almost losing you.”

He wasn’t sure who was more surprised by his words – himself or Callum. It was the most honest, most _exposed_ , Dorian had ever been. Losing Callum was not an option. Unforgiveable, inconceivable, impossible.

From stranger to friend, from friend to _Amatus_ … he couldn’t lose that.

It was the first time he’d ever had it.

“I’m sorry,” Callum said again, regretfully this time. “I’m so sorry. I just… I had to.”

On some level, Dorian understand that, maybe even one day could accept, but right now that knot in his stomach grew even as it burned, and anger ignited in his veins.

“You would throw your life away. Have your forgotten we need you?” _I need you._ “You’re our only hope of stopping the Breach, and closing the rifts. Or have you forgotten about the Dark Future?”

Callum’s expression hardened, and Dorian knew he struck some chord, though he wasn’t sure which. “I know that,” Callum said flatly. “That’s all I’m good for.”

Dorian sighed. “Do not put words in my mouth. You know that is not true.”

“Oh yeah? Then what happens after all of this is over, assuming we live? Do we just go our separate ways? Am I supposed to just ignore the fact I’ll always have this stupid fucking mark?”

“Always?” Dorian asked, brows drawing together in confusion. “I told you we would find a way to remove it.”

“It’s not possible,” Callum spat distastefully, looking away. “Corypheus said it was permanent. _Fuck_.”

“Why would he tell you the truth? He is obviously lying.”

“See, I don’t think he is. He had no reason to lie. He thought he was going to kill me.”

“We’ll find a way to remove it.”

“I’m always going to have this fucking mark, and after this is over, I’m just going to be forgotten but still stuck with _this_. And I can’t-” he broke off then, shaking his head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

Dorian sighed; why was Callum so incredibly frustrating? “We’ll find a way.”

“Hollow words.”

The anger ignited anew. “So that’s it? You’re just accepting it?”

“What else can I do?” Callum threw back at him. “This mark, this _Anchor_ , is permanent.”

“Anchor?”

“It’s what Corypheus called it.”

“What else did Corypheus say?”

Callum shrugged. “He’s crazy, so it doesn’t really matter. He’s also a darkspawn, his dragon is possibly an archdemon, the Grey Wardens are missing, and he thinks he can conquer the very heavens.”

He said it so casually, so quickly.

An apt summary, however. Dread formed in Dorian’s stomach.

“Well… shit.”

Callum laughed hollowly. It was a sound of which Dorian was not very fond. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

Dorian watched him for a moment, noting the exhaustion weighing on him, and how he seemed to be favoring one sign. He remembered the state in which he found the rogue – broken, bloody, half frozen.

Barely alive.

Thankfully, not only did Hawke and the others help get them out of there and helped him tend to the worst of Callum’s wounds – the dive in which he’d taken to enter the tunnel caused damage upon impact. It didn’t help that one of his legs had been impaled falling debris. Thankfully the object staunched the flow of blood, at least for a while. Moving him, reopening the hole and releasing the blood, very nearly finished him off. And he was so cold, his breaths so shallow – for one terrifying moment he actually thought Callum was dead.

He closed his eyes. “Are you… okay?”

“I’m fine,” Callum replied. “Don’t worry about me; I always bounce back.”

_Yes… but one of these days, you won’t._

“I can’t…” he broke off, struggling to find the words, keeping his eyes closed. “You can’t keep doing this.” _You can’t keep doing this to me._ “If you ever pull a stunt like that again, if you nearly die _again_ , I will not forgive you.”

And he wouldn’t, because Callum could only tempt fate so many times before he ran out of luck. _And he’ll be gone_.

“Okay,” Callum said quietly, and Dorian opened his eyes to find the rogue watching him carefully, guiltily. “I can’t promise it won’t happen again; we’re fighting a war. But I won’t do anything reckless. I won’t get hurt for stupid reasons.”

Dorian sighed. It wasn’t the words he was looking for, but they would do for now, as Callum was right. They were fighting a war. At some point they would probably be injured – _or worse_ – and thus it was unavoidable.

“Very well,” he said. “If that’s the case, I demand that you use your nimble fingers, preferably on me.”

Callum smiled faintly. “You demand, huh?”

Dorian nodded.

“Well… how can I say no to that?”


	33. Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone gets settled in at Skyhold; Callum worries things might not be okay with him and Dorian; Dorian admits to avoiding Callum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, I am so sorry for the delay! Over a month, I know! I'm so sorry. I was in a rut for a bit, then things were bad at home and I was in a bad place mentally and emotionally for a while. It really sucked. I hope I'm getting better but truthfully I don't know anymore. Ugh. I give. Anyway - again, sorry for the delay. I gave up on attempting to get to this point in the game as I am not in the mood to play it. We'll see how that goes, though. In the meantime updates might be slow in coming; I'm sorry. I'll try to update when I can.
> 
> On the upside, I am working on an original new series on my fictionpress account. It is a joint-series with another author there, who is my friend (though we've never met in person). So that's fun. We currently have profiles for the characters, a vague history of the world and the plot, and two finished one-shots, which aren't posted yet. She is currently working on the third one-shot. Anyway, so I guess not all of the reasons for my delay are bad. Huh. Go figure.
> 
> Again, though, sorry for the delay and I'll try to keep regular updates but they won't be nearly as fast as they've been in the past. It might be once a week, or maybe twice a month, I just don't know at this point. We'll see how my mental state goes. Anyway - thanks for the reviews and kudos and everything, I really appreciate it. It's why this story was even updated in the first place ;)

Chapter Thirty-Two: Skyhold

 

_This place is a mess._

Skyhold, shown to Callum and Hawke by Solas, was a rundown castle in the middle of nowhere. The fact it was so close to them, in the mountains, was a miracle, truly. Nevertheless, they couldn’t stay refugees forever; they needed a place to stay and get away from the cold before everyone froze to death. That didn’t mean Skyhold was perfect, however, even if they needed it right now. Half of it was rubble, leaving areas open to the cold wind and snow. There needed to be a lot of work done to this place.

Callum had never been particularly good at fixing things. He wasn’t a handyman. Give him bandits any day, and blades; give him a hammer and wood and he was useless.

Emry was better at it, though.

He sighed. Thinking of Emry needed to stop. He hadn’t spoken to Emry in nearly two years, counting the supposed seven months he was missing. It was still hard to believe it had truly been that long; that Emry gave up on him after only seven months. Dorian hadn’t, and Dorian hadn’t known him nearly as long as Emry.

A fond smile flitted across Callum’s face as he thought of the mage. He wasn’t sure exactly what he felt for Dorian, but he knew it was more than lust. After all, the two hadn’t even done anything yet.

Dorian was different now, though.

Ever since they started to get the group of survivors to Skyhold, the mage was distant. It could be because he was busy, and there was little for them to say on the way here. But after being at Skyhold for nearly a week, the distance hadn’t changed.

Callum wondered what he did wrong.

He had little time to think about it, though, with all the meetings he had in the war room as they attempted to figure out their next move. The advantage of Skyhold was they could see anyone coming; they would see if there was to be another surprise attack, and better defend themselves. They also didn’t think Corypheus would attack them here, and least not yet. That gave them time to rebuild and strengthen their own forces.

What free time he did have, he spent at the tavern talking to The Iron Bull. He and Bull shared a similar sense of humor; it was very easy to get along with him. Bull was also very casual about sex, comparing it to seeing a healer – sometimes it was quick, other times it took a while. In another life, Callum could see him and Bull getting along better, in a more intimate way. As it was, though, he was attached to Dorian, even if the mage was distant at the moment.

The first time he got alone with Dorian was a stolen moment in the library in which Dorian seemed to have claimed. He stayed in a little area surrounded by books. It was amazing they were able to collect anything worthwhile, but as more people flooded to Skyhold – as it was the only true safe haven around here, for both Templars and mages – the more they brought with them, and slowly but surely their collection grew.

Dorian liked to read. He was also focused on finding a lead on Corypheus, but neither of them had high hopes in that regard.

Dorian was reading when Callum approached him a week after they arrived at Skyhold.

“Hey,” Callum said quietly, causing Dorian to look up from the book, blinking at him in surprise.

“My apologies,” said the mage. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

“Well – would be terrible at my job as a rogue if you could hear me.”

Dorian smiled slightly. “Yes, there is that.”

“Is… there something wrong?” Callum asked, deciding to just get to the point.

“No.”

“Are you sure? Because you’ve been… kind of distant.”

Dorian shrugged and look back down at the book he was reading at the small table in his little aclove. “I have been busy, as have you.”

“Yeah… I guess so,” Callum said quietly, frowning at him. “You’d tell me if you were angry with me, right?”

“Yes, _Amatus_.”

The use of that moniker left him smiling, the knot loosening in his stomach. “What are you reading?”

“I am searching through Tevinter’s history for anything relating to Corypheus.”

“Oh. Any luck?”

“Not so far.”

“Well… we’ll figure something out eventually.”

“I suppose so.”

Silence surrounded them, thick and heavy.

Thankfully it was broken when Cullen appeared at the top of the stairs. His gaze immediately landing on Callum, causing the rogue to sigh.

“Let me guess,” he said, “something came up and you need my help.”

By this point Dorian was looking at Cullen too.

“Yes,” Cullen said somewhat apologetically.

“Alright,” Callum said. “War room, then?”

Cullen nodded and turned to go back down the stairs. Callum watching him go with a sigh, before he looked back at Dorian, who had returned to his book. A spark of irritation flooded through him at the sight.

He left Dorian without another word, leaving him to his precious books.

xXx

To his surprise, Dorian was waiting for him when he emerged from the new war room in one of the finished and intact rooms of the castle.

“So where are we off to now?”

Callum blinked at him. “You… want to come with me?” he asked, frowning.

Dorian shrugged. “I can’t trust you to not get yourself killed in my absence.”

“You don’t have to go, Dorian. I know how much you hate traveling in the snow.”

“There’s something I hate more,” Dorian said quietly.

Callum frowned again. “And what’s that?”

Dorian simply shrugged once more and nodded down the hallway leading away from the war room. “Shall we?”

Callum watched him for a moment, before he shrugged and nodded, leading the way from the war room, all the while with his thoughts lingering on the man behind him. Sometimes Dorian just made no sense. First he was angry with him, avoiding him despite how he argued otherwise – and now he was offering to go with him on a mission.

Willingly offering to travel through the snow-capped mountains, through the frosty air when he was originally from the warmer, northern part of Thedas. All he ever did was say he hated the weather in the South, especially all the snow, and here they were in Skyhold, a run down castle of sorts, with nothing but snow and mountains and wind all around them. One would think he would do nothing but seek refuge in the library as he had been doing lately, but now he decided to the Void with it all, and was offering to go with Callum.

Callum would be lying if he said he wasn’t secretly grateful. He missed traveling with Dorian, to be honest. He missed the old days when things weren’t complicated. When it was just him, Dorian, and Emry. When things were simple. Before the time travel started, before the mage with the flaxen hair decided to finally attack him outright. All of this was just so complicated now. So very complicated.

He looked down at his gloved hand. Since most of Skyhold was still in disrepair, he had taken to wearing warm clothing all the time. Though he grew up traveling everywhere in Southern Thedas, that did not mean he particularly enjoyed the freezing weather of the winter season. In fact he quite hated it. No one liked being cold all the time. So thus he’d taken to always wearing gloves.

He told himself it was because he was cold, and not because seeing the Anchor these days just left this tight knot of dread coiled in his stomach.

Ever since he got this mark… things became unbelievably complicated, and he didn’t know what to do anymore.

“Everything okay?”

He broke from his thoughts and realized he was standing outside the door which led to his new quarters, though he’d of course argued having such a space for himself. Hawke had his own quarters, the Inquisitor argued; now the Herald needed somewhere to stay as well. It was the least he could do, Hawke said, after what happened with Corypheus.

Everyone felt like they owed him, or had to make it up to him, for what he did attempting to distract Corypheus so the others could have time to get away. There was nothing heroic about it. He was scared awaiting his death and he was just as scared at night. Every night since then he’d been having nightmares, mostly dealing with permanently having this green mark on his hand, and sometimes he dreamt of his family and their murder.

Sleep was not his friend lately.

“Everything’s fine,” he said, still looking at the door which would to his new living area. “This is, um… my room.”

“So they did give you a place, then?”

“Guess so,” he mumbled with a nod. “I didn’t want them to, you know. It’s not like I need it.”

“Where have you been sleeping?”

There was a tone to Dorian’s voice Callum couldn’t quite place. He frowned, glancing away from the wooden door, finally, to focus on the mage. Dorian’s whiskey brown eyes were focused elsewhere, on the ground as though it were the answer to every secret Thedas held.

“Here and there,” Callum replied, swallowing. “I… Um… What about you?”

He tried to give Dorian space, while they were here. It seemed to be what the mage wanted. While he claimed he wasn’t avoiding Callum, the two still hardly saw each other. Occasionally they would find each other at night, but their sleep schedules had been ruined by all the work which needed to be done here at Skyhold, and thus more often than not, Callum worked through the night, slept sometime during the day if he was able to do so, and for Dorian it was the opposite.

Callum assumed Dorian had been sleeping at the library.

“At the library,” Dorian confirmed somewhat hesitantly. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Callum asked, frowning at the mage.

Dorian took in a slow breath, still looking at the ground. “Perhaps I have been avoiding you, as you said.”

Callum sucked in a breath. “I see,” he said slowly, looking away himself. “Any particular reason?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, then, um…”

“I have been unfair to you. I apologize.”

“Unfair to me? How so?” He dragged his gaze back toward Dorian.

“I do not mean to avoid you. I didn’t realize I was doing such a thing until you pointed it out.”

“I see.”

He didn’t, but he didn’t know what else to say, either. Dorian still wouldn’t look at him. Irritation chewed at the fringes of his mind. Dorian was ignoring him for unknown reasons. He guessed he couldn’t really blame the mage, if he didn’t know he was doing it, and was at least admitting it and apologizing now, but that still left him feeling a bit uncertain about where things stood between them.

“Are we okay?” he finally asked after a long moment of silence.

Dorian remained silent for a beat longer. Callum kept his gaze focused away from the mage, worried he’d see an expression he didn’t like on Dorian’s face – something like regret, or acceptance, or _something_. Something which meant they were over, over before they even really started, before they even really knew what this was between them.

“I would like for us to be,” Dorian finally replied, and Callum could breathe again. “I am sorry for avoiding you, however unintentionally it might have been. I will remedy this in the future.”

“So we still have a future, then?”

“Yes, _Amatus_.”

At the name, though he still had no idea what it meant, he couldn’t help but finally looking back at Dorian, catching his eye, and grinning. Dorian returned his smile and then nodded at the door.

“Oh, right. Yeah, I guess I should pack, huh?” Callum sighed and shook his head even as he finally opened the door to his quarters.

“Where is it we are going, if I may ask?”

Callum realized neither of them had mentioned this yet. He answered Dorian while they walked through the small hallway and up the set of stairs which finally led to the opening of his room. His very large, unnecessary room.

“We are going to the swamps of the Fallow Mire to rescue some missing soldiers,” Callum said. “They wanted Hawke to go, but he’s wrapped up in everything that’s taking place here, so they asked me instead.”

“I see,” Dorian said from behind him. “And is this-”

He broke off there as they finally entered Callum’s quarters. Callum looked over his shoulder and smirked at the mage, who was looking around with wide eyes. This place was bigger than anywhere Callum had ever stayed, this whole room to himself. It was even bigger than his bedroom as a kid, despite the fact his parents were nobles.

“So what do you think?” Callum asked, stepping away from Dorian to instead do a quick spin into the center of the room, gesturing around with outstretched arms. “Like what you see?”

Dorian continued to look around for a moment, before his gaze finally landed back on Callum. “The curtains are a bit too austere.”

“Oh, yes, the _curtains_. Well at least the _floor_ is okay, yes? We do have a thing about nice floors.”

Dorian smirked at him. “The floor is fine, _Amatus_.”

“One day you are going to tell me what that means. And all that other gibberish you spew that I can’t understand.”

“Maybe one day,” Dorian said with a shrug.

“Promises, promises. Okay, just give me a minute to pack.”

It wasn’t like he had a lot of things. Mostly he just needed to slip into his armor and get his daggers ready, then he’d be ready to go.

“When are we set to leave?”

“In an hour,” Callum replied, disappearing into a small side room where he quickly began rooting through what few items of clothing and armor he had. The blacksmith had taken a shine to him, though, and had made him a new set of armor he promised Callum he would like. Callum easily slipped out of his walk-around clothes and began putting on the pieces of his armor.

He’d never liked very heavy and cumbersome armor, but since he became the Herald, it was decided he needed better, thicker armor. He was the only one who could close the rifts, after all; he needed to take more precautions or he could die and they would have no way to seal the rifts anymore.

Not to mention the fact he promised Dorian he would at least _try_ and be more careful, and if that meant he had to wear better armor…

He turned when he heard noise behind him and found Dorian standing in the small doorway, watching him put on his armor. He smiled at the faint blush dusting the mage’s cheeks. That blush was adorable.

“I’m going to name your blush,” he said.

“I do not blush,” Dorian argued, his cheeks darkening.

“I am going to call it Ser Denial. Denny for short. How is Denny today?”

Dorian shook his head, spinning out of the room. “You are impossible.”

Callum snickered, finishing the last bits of his armor before he walked out of the small side room. “Well? How do I look?”

Dorian looked at him. “That looks heavy.”

“It’s a bit annoying, yes.”

“I thought you liked light armor?”

“I do, but, you see, I did sort of promise a certain handsome mage that I would be more careful, and thus here we are.”

“Handsome, hmm? Tell me all about this ‘handsome’ mage.”

“Oh, yes, he’s quite the looker with this adorable mustache, you see,” Callum said, smirking when Dorian’s cheeks brightened again. “And his blush, Denny, is also quite adorable.”

“You are terrible,” Dorian told him.

“Denny begs to differ.”

Dorian turned away, his back to Callum. “I do not blush.”

“Don’t be mean to Denny, he didn’t do anything to you.”

“Are you quite done?”

Callum laughed. “Sure, Dori. I’m done. Do you need to pack anything?”

“Oh. Yes. I suppose I should do that, huh?”

“You totally spaced, didn’t you? All of those books are getting to your head.”

“Something like that,” Dorian replied, looking at him briefly out of the corner of his eye as he began moving toward the door. “I will go pack, then. I will meet you in fifteen minutes, here.”

“Very well, Dori,” Callum said, smirking. “And take good care of Denny for me, will you? I’ve grown quite fond of him, you see.”

The blush returned and Dorian quickly made his escape.

xXx

_Denny. Denial. The nerve of that rogue!_

Dorian’s mind was a blur of quick thoughts as he carefully packed what few belongings he had. He had very little. His parents would be very unhappy with him, but if the past few years had taught him anything, it was that he didn’t particularly care what his parents thought.

It took him only a few minutes to pack what he thought he might need – some warm clothing, some healing salves and potions since this could probably be a dangerous mission – and he spent the rest of his fifteen minutes sitting there in his corner of the library, alone with his thoughts.

He had been avoiding Callum, though he had not meant to do so. He wasn’t angry with the rogue, exactly; just disturbed at how often Callum found himself in near-death situations. He wasn’t lying when he said he couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t keep almost losing his _Amatus_. And yet he knew Callum was speaking the truth as well; they were in the middle of a war, a war against demons with his mark, the Anchor, in the middle of it. Everything they did would be dangerous and potentially life threatening. It didn’t matter if they tried to be careful, it didn’t matter if he promised he would stay alive.

Accepting this was rather difficult, though Dorian knew there was little either of them could do about this. At least Callum was trying to keep his word; he got better armor and gear, to at least attempt to keep himself safer. Dorian had upgraded as well, if only because everyone insisted. If only because Hawke and Callum insisted.

He wasn’t sure, exactly, what he and Callum were to one another, if this ‘relationship’ – if he could call it that – was even defined. Did they have labels? Were there rules and guidelines? He’d never been in a serious relationship before. He was fairly certain avoiding one’s partner was on the ‘no-no’ portion of that list of rules and guidelines. He’d already failed and he wasn’t even entirely sure what they had between them. Everything happened so fast; they kissed, admitted a few things, then were sent into the future by Alexius’ amulet. Afterward they returned to Haven, but they didn’t linger there for very long. Instead they were then split up, with Dorian accompanying Hawke in the Hinterlands while Callum went to Orlais to retrieve Vivienne.

Everything happened so quickly. It was enough to make his head spin.

He dragged a hand over his face, sighing heavily. He truly needed to better understand what this was between himself and Callum, but asking about it didn’t seem appropriate either. Ignoring it wasn’t an option. Talking about it would be awkward and leave Callum commenting on ‘Denny’ again.

_Perhaps it can wait until after we get back._

He truly had no desire to go to the swamps of all places, but letting Callum wander off on his own wasn’t an option, either. Not with the numerous times he’d attempted to die on Dorian over the course of their friendship, and now whatever it was they had between them. So therefore he had to go because the rogue wasn’t very adept at looking after himself. He wondered if it was a trait all rogues shared or if his rogue was just special.

 _His_ rogue.

He sighed again and got to his feet, picking up his bag of items, along with his staff.

After leaving the library he wandered toward Callum’s quarters, wondering if the rogue really waited for him or if he wandered off on his own again. If he did, Dorian was going to be sorely cross with him. Callum’s quarters were rather spacious, reminiscent of Dorian’s old ones in Tevinter. Not for the first time he thought of home.

_Perhaps when this is over… I will visit._

Perhaps, but somehow, he doubted it. His anger toward his parents, particularly his father, had not ebbed over the past few years he’d been away. He still felt so very angry every time he thought about that dreadful ritual his own parents wished to perform on him. The resentment had not abated.

Callum was, thankfully, waiting for him in his quarters, as he said he would be. Or, rather, waiting was a strong word. Instead Callum was actually napping. On his large bed. It made him look so incredibly small, in it all alone. Dorian smiled at the sight of the rogue curled into soft pillows, a look of calm serenity written across his face. He walked across the room toward the bed, smirking down at the rogue. He knew he would have to wake him, as they would be leaving within the hour, but he could let him sleep for at least a little longer. It looked like he needed it.

Though he had been avoiding Callum, albeit unknowingly, he did recognize the signs of fatigue printed across the rogue’s face. The dark rings under his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped just a little too much, the way his feet dragged a little too much… the telltale signs were obvious. Callum needed more sleep than he was getting, and Dorian swore to himself he would no avoid the rogue again. He would be there from now on, starting with this mission. He would be there.

As though sensing his presence and the weight of his thoughts, Callum rolled his head somewhat, more toward Dorian. Dorian smiled again at the sight even as he sat on the edge of the bed, a little worried he would disturb Callum’s slumber. However, all Callum did was sigh a little in his sleep and continue resting rather contentedly.

That changed, however, when the door to his quarters was suddenly flung open, bouncing off the wall afterward. Dorian jumped to his feet, alarmed, as Callum quickly flinched and sat up. They both looked toward the door to see Josephine standing there, blinking at the two of them with this faint red dusting on her cheeks.

“Oh,” she said somewhat uncertainly, “I apologize, Herald. I was uncertain if you were in here or if you were trying to ignore this room again.”

Dorian was confused but Callum simply chuckled.

“I’ve denied this room too much,” Callum said. “You won’t let me leave it, and it’s rather comfortable. Why keep fighting it?”

Josephine smiled brightly. It changed her entire face. “I also wished to inform you that Cullen is ready for you at the stables whenever you wish to depart.”

With that, she gave them both a little bow and then left the room, quietly closing the door behind her. Dorian stared after her for a moment, before glancing at Callum, who sat in the middle of his large bed, smirking at him.

“I told you Josephine was scary,” Callum told him.

Dorian scowled. “I wasn’t scared. And in any event, you did not tell me she would be bursting into your quarters unannounced.”

“Jealous?” Callum asked, smirk growing.

“Of course not.”

“Denny begs to differ.”

“I do not have a blush!”

Callum snickered. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Dorian. Don’t worry, Denny, he can’t deny you forever. You’re too cute to deny.”

With that, Callum tapped an open palm lightly against Dorian’s cheek, twice, before dropping his hand and getting to his feet. Meanwhile Dorian spluttered at him.

“You… You… The things you say,” he finally managed to utter, staring at the rogue.

Callum laughed, reaching down to pick up his things. “Yes, well, I say a great many things. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Do I?” Callum asked innocently, grinning cheekily at him.

Dorian looked skyward even though his gaze met with the ceiling. _Maker, what did I do to deserve this?_

“Well,” Callum said, the humor dispersing from his voice, “I suppose we should meet Cullen, then.”

“I suppose,” Dorian echoed, sighing.

“Cheer up, Dori – I’m sure the swamps won’t stain all of your wonderful clothing.”

Dorian scowled at him.

Callum smirked and led the way out of the room.


	34. We're Here to Rescue You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callum isn't very fond of the Fallow Mire's swamps... nor is he pleased with the person responsible for the missing Inquisition soldiers...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, sorry again for the delay. Like I said, updates might be more slow in coming. As it is, I have FINALLY reached this point in the game xD Or, rather, I just got to Skyhold in it. Huzzah, and all that jazz. And as I was doing so, I realized I kind of skipped over something big... like... you know... the whole "closing the Breach" bit that takes place right before you get attacked by Corypheus... Yeah, that wasn't me attempting to be creative, that was me completely forgetting about it since I was doing it from memory xD Um... oops? XD Anyway, we'll see how that works itself out, I guess. I have a few ideas for the upcoming chapters but we'll see how it goes. Right now my head hurts, I don't feel so hot, and I got new meds from my neurologist and I am very loopy xD I apologize for mistakes and whatnot, and I'll try update again soon!
> 
> Also:  
> I've been listening to "Right Here" by Ashes Remain while I wrote this and it just makes me think of these two for some reason xD I don't know why. Achem. Anywho.
> 
> I live for feedback, so please comment!! :D It really does make me what to update!

Chapter Thirty-Three: We’re Here to Rescue You

 

The swamps of the Fallow Mire were not only damp and ‘swampy’, but the entire feel of the place just left a bad taste in Callum’s mouth. He could only imagine how Dorian was taking things. Occasionally he glanced over at the mage to see his lips curling back in disgust as more mud clung to his robes. If Callum was in his position, he might feel the same; mages’ robes were terribly hard to clean on a good day, let alone after a romp through the swamps.

As it was, he winced every time he looked at his new armor, caked in mud. He’d never had a problem with dirty armor or clothing before, but this… felt different. This was newly crafted just for him, as a gift of the Inquisition. And now it looked like all of his old armor.

The air in the Fallow Mire was stuffy and moist, damp as well as though it could rain any moment. Foggy, thick. The fog made it seem very dark all of the time. The muddy swamps were equally as creepy; stepping in them caused figures to rise from the waters and attack you, so he tried to steer clear of the water when he could.

Accompanying him was Dorian and The Iron Bull. More offered to come but after being so crowded at Skyhold lately, Callum had declined, choosing instead to take a small crew to infiltrate the swamps. They were going to discuss the release of the missing soldiers, if they’d been taken hostage; if not… well, then they would regroup. Hawke would come instead, if that was needed. Callum hoped everything would work out okay. It was time for something to finally go right for once.

By the time they fought their way through the swamps, they’d used most of their healing salves. The figures emerging from the waters seemed never-ending. Not to mention the rifts as well; by the time they made camp that night, Callum’s hand ached so much it felt like it was swollen and made of fire. He cradled it to his chest in the darkness of his tent, contemplating what he would do next and what he could do for the pain. They had no expected such resistance upon entering the swamps; they brought only so much equipment and healing salves and potions. Dorian was no healer; he was doing his best with what he had.

Taking from their dwindling inventory didn’t seem like the best idea, despite the pain. He would just have to deal with yet another sleepless night and hope they wrapped things up in the morning.

The sound of his tent flap opening startled him. He quickly pushed the palm of his left hand flat against his thigh, his outer armor off for the time being. Dorian entered the tent somewhat hesitantly. Their eyes met briefly and Dorian released a slow breath, holding up a salve.

“May I?”

Callum chewed on his lower lip. “I’m fine,” he said.

Dorian scowled. “You have been grimacing and cradling your hand for hours. Either admit to the pain or let me fix it.”

“You can’t fix it,” Callum said, and if the words came out more bitter than intended, he regretted it the instant he saw the look on Dorian’s face. Sighing, he held out his hand as a sort of peace offering. Dorian joined him on the mat of blankets which was to be his bed, his nimble fingers wrapping around Callum’s left wrist.

Nothing was spoken as Dorian applied the healing salve. It soothed the pain, cooling the burn, but it was only a temporary fix. It was all going to just be a temporary fix no matter what because this mark was permanent. The more he thought about it the more bitter he became.

_I didn’t ask for any of this. Why me?_

It wasn’t fair.

But complaining only made him seem like a petulant child, and he stopped being a kid the night his family died.

He must have been silent too long. Dorian’s fingers tightened briefly around his wrist once the mage was finished with the salve. He blinked a few times, focusing on Dorian.

“Sorry, I spaced,” he mumbled.

“Is everything okay?” Dorian asked.

“Yeah – just can’t wait to get out of this swamp. I’m the Herald, after all; I shouldn’t even _be_ in a swamp.”

Dorian smiled faintly. Callum couldn’t help but return it.

“How are you?” he asked.

Dorian shrugged. “Well enough, considering I will have to get new clothes after this.”

Callum snickered quietly. “I’m sure the mud will come out eventually.”

The scowl which crossed Dorian’s face was rather adorable, leaving his smile growing. Strange how Dorian could always manage to get him to smile, despite everything else going on around them.

“How is your hand?” Dorian asked after a beat of silence.

Callum shrugged, flexing his fingers beneath the small wrap Dorian had created for him. “It’s fine, thanks. You didn’t have to, um… Well, you just didn’t have to.”

His hand hurt, but he would have dealt with it. Dorian didn’t have to waste their supplies on him. Who knew what tomorrow would bring?

“Thanks for coming,” he said softly, looking away.

“And leave you to drown in this mud alone? Perish the thought.”

He chuckled quietly. “Yes, you and Denny are excellent company.”

Dorian went silent for a moment. Callum didn’t have to be looking at him to know he was blushing, attempting to fight it off. It truly was an adorable blush and he could only hope for the day when Dorian would stop fighting it.

He patted Dorian’s hand. “While you’re in here keeping me company, who’s keeping watch?”

“The Iron Bull,” Dorian replied with a shrug even as a frown worked its way onto his face. “He recommended I check on you.”

Bull was trying to push them together, was he? Callum hid a smirk; he could get behind this plan. “What does he think of the swamps?”

“He doesn’t really have an opinion, it seems,” Dorian said.

Callum nodded; as a spy for the Qunari, he had probably been everywhere. He didn’t particularly know much about Qunari spies or how they differed from his own line of work, but he himself had been in a bunch of filthy places, so the mud didn’t really bother him. The Iron Bull was probably the same way. The only reason he cared at the moment was because this was newly crafted armor and it felt like a waste, dirtying it like this, so quickly.

Plus just because he had been all over the place and in many different types of places didn’t mean he _enjoyed_ the swamps. The swamps were among his least favorite. The Hissing Wastes probably took the cake in that regard, though; he hated that place. The title of the land was rather apt.

“Are you listening?”

Callum smirked at the mage and the slight frown on his lips. “To you? I’m sorry; your lovely voice is distracting.”

The blush returned. Dorian spluttered.

Callum laughed, grinning at him. “Kidding, Dori. I was lost in my thoughts. What was it you were saying?”

Dorian took in a deep breath, no doubt willing the blush away.

“As I was _saying_ ,” he said with a pointed look, “perhaps you should get some sleep, if your hand is feeling better. I can take second watch.”

“How very kind of you,” Callum said, eying the mage briefly. “I’ll sleep if you join me.”

The blush returned as Dorian scowled. “You do this on purpose, don’t you?”

“I wish,” Callum laughed, shaking his head. “No, but I’m serious; you look tired, and Bull’s keeping watch right now.” He patted next to him as he scooted over a little, offering more room. “Join me, Dori.”

Dorian hesitated.

Callum’s confidence wavered. “We’re just going to sleep,” he said softly, pulse stuttering. Did he do something wrong? Was this wrong? He would be lying if he said his mouth didn’t get away from him, but even so, was offering to sleep next to someone that bad? Was he that bad of company?

He took in a breath and lay down, turning so his back was to Dorian, his eyes falling closed.

“Never mind. Sorry. I’m tired. Night.”

It was silent for a long moment before Dorian released a rush of air, causing Callum’s spine to stiffen.

“I suppose I am making this difficult, aren’t I?”

He kept his eyes closed and didn’t respond. Perhaps Dorian would think he quickly fell asleep and they wouldn’t have to have this conversation. He knew they’d have to have it eventually, but right now… after just getting rejected for such a simple thing…

“I know you are awake.”

He sighed and opened his eyes, thought he stayed how he was, lying on his side with his back to Dorian and the entrance of the tent. “What?”

“I do not know why I am behaving this way,” Dorian confessed. “I have never shied away from… physical contact in the past.”

“So I’m special then.”

_Yay me._

_Oh, the sarcasm is strong in this one._

“In a way,” Dorian replied somewhat uncertainly. “It’s not that I don’t want to, Callum, it’s just…”

“Just what? All I asked you to do was sleep.” He inhaled slowly. “You’ve done that before.”

“Yes,” came the shy response, which really wasn’t like Dorian. As much as he enjoyed ruffling the mage’s feathers, so to speak, and making him blush, Dorian was still rather confident. Hearing him sound so shy right now… about this…

He rolled over so he was on his back, tilting his head toward Dorian, focusing on him in the dim lighting of the tent. “So what’s the problem, Dori?”

Dorian shrugged, shoulders sagging as he looked away, teeth worrying at his lower lip momentarily. “I don’t know. It’s never been an issue before.”

“Do you not… _want_ to do that with me?”

 _Ever?_ He left unsaid, but it echoed through the tent nevertheless.

“Of course I do,” Dorian said quickly. “It… I just… In the past it has always been fast; meaningless. Where I come from – it’s accepted, but it’s never anything more than a quick night. It’s never anything serious.”

“And you think… what? All of my encounters have been _serious_?” Callum asked, quirking a brow at the mage. “It’s not like life on the run gets you something ‘serious’.”

“I know that,” Dorian replied, “but I still… I don’t…”

“What is it you’re wanting out of this, Dorian?”

It was something Callum himself wasn’t sure of, but maybe if he heard what Dorian wanted, it would become easier.

He wanted more than a one-night-stand. But then if he just wanted sex, this would be over already. It wasn’t about that. It was something more, something vast and confusing and it made his head spin just thinking about it.

“What do you want out of this?” he asked again, when Dorian remained silent.

He focused his gaze on the roof of the tent. It just seemed easier.

“I don’t know,” Dorian finally replied, voice breathy and rough. “What do you want?”

“I asked you first.”

“All on me, then?”

“What, it should be all on me?”

Dorian snorted. “I suppose not.”

Callum took in a slow breath, closing his eyes. “Look, it’s late, and we’re in the middle of a deadly swamp. We’ll… talk about this when we get back to Skyhold. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” Dorian said quickly, eager for this conversation to end just as much as Callum was.

“Good.”

More silence.

“Does your… offer still stand?” Dorian asked.

A slow grin worked its way onto Callum’s face. “Of course it does, Dori. I’ll try not to knee you in the kidney in my sleep, but I make no promises.”

He scooted over a bit, and felt the warmth of the mage as he lay next to him.

xXx

The members of the Inquisition were being held by a member of the Avaar, apparently. He had an issue with the Inquisitor more than the Herald, and seemed affronted that the Herald came instead. He took this as an insult and called Hawke a coward for not wanting to face him directly. He vowed to destroy the Herald and take his fight to the Inquisitor afterward.

By the time his little angry rant was over, Callum was quite irritated. He entered stealth mode and thus began the battle. He only hoped the soldiers were still alive at this point; he had no way of knowing.

The battle was long and hard, and they were already low on herbs, salves and potions. They really didn’t need this right now. As it was, Callum’s hand throbbed and ached despite the fact he’d attempted to get rid of all of the rifts between here and the start of the swamps as they made their way here. He might have missed a few, though; even so, his hand needed to stop hurting so he could focus properly.

Again came the unbidden thought that this was _permanent_ ; he would always have to deal with his hand throbbing and aching like this. And it wasn’t _fair_ …

_No. Think about it later; focus now._

The Avaar was a great fighter; stealth mode only lasted so long and got him so far. Just because he couldn’t be seen didn’t mean he couldn’t be hit, and he was a melee fighter with his daggers; he had to get in close eventually. On this particular moment the Avaar managed to land a surprising blow, twisted at the last second and lashing at, what was to him, thin air. The bulk of the slash hit dead air, but more of it caught hold of Callum’s shoulder, twisting him off balance.

With a gasp of pain, he fell off his feet and crashed to the ground, turning visible again. Instantly he was covered by a barrier and a second later Bull was charging at the Avaar, even as their attacker swung again at the downed rogue. Gloved fingers stained red with the blood gushing from the wound on his shoulder, Callum twisted and rolled away from the attack and managed to get to his feet despite the rush of dizziness that assaulted his sense the moment he went upright.

The Iron Bull caught hold of their attacker with a grappling chain, yanking him away from Callum and instead toward the angry Charger. A hand landed on his good shoulder, then, pulling him away from the battle even as an ice spell was flung from the staff suddenly next to him.

“ _Amatus_ ,” Dorian said, but it was all he needed to say.

Callum sank into the warmth offered to him. Tired. He was so tired, and dizzy, and he just wanted to go to bed. Go to bed with Dorian. Yes, that sounded lovely. “ ‘s it over yet?”

“Not quite,” Dorian replied. “Do you have any more potions?”

Callum shook his head as gravity attempted to yank him downward. He noted, numbly, that it was getting rather cold. The wind had picked up.

“You’re losing a lot of blood,” Dorian noted worriedly.

It was nice when he worried. Adorable, even.

“Stop grinning like a mad-man,” Dorian demanded.

Callum laughed, unable to stop himself even as his legs shook and finally gave way. Dorian managed to catch him, though it took them both to their knees. Callum cast his gaze across the battlefield toward Bull, who had his hands full with the Avaar. He had to be almost dead, Callum thought. Certainly, almost dead. Out of potions.

He twisted his dagger in his good hand, contemplating.

Dorian was speaking, but that moment, the words were fog in a haze, there one second and gone the next.

The Avaar raised his weapon. Bull was backed in a corner.

Callum took in a breath and with the last of his reserves, entered stealth mode, shoving away from Dorian. He could heart Dorian’s angered shout but ignored it, focusing on making his way toward Bull. It took more effort than it should, to walk, but in the end he made it just in time.

He sank his twin daggers into the Avaar’s back just as it lashed out at Bull. His weapon never made contact as he instead collapsed, finally, dead, and Callum yanked his daggers free from dead flesh as he turned visible again.

Dorian was shouting at him in that other language of his. Maybe one day he would tell Callum what it meant.

“Boss?” asked The Iron Bull, and a big, heavy hand landed on his good shoulder.

“ ‘m good,” he said, staggering under the added weight.

“Liar,” Dorian hissed. “You’re gushing blood all over the place.”

“ ‘m fine,” he protested even as he sat down, wondering when his legs betrayed him.

“We shall discuss your lack of a dictionary when we get back to Skyhold,” Dorian sighed, shaking his head. “Until then, I’m going to try and stop the bleeding. I’m a Necromancer, you know; if you make me go into familiar territory, I am going to be very cross with you.”

He giggled despite himself. He blamed the blood loss. And that adorable scowl on Dorian’s face. “You’re cute when you’re mad,” he said, or tried to say; he wasn’t sure how coherent it came out. His eyelids drooped.

“Hush,” Dorian said. “You are not allowed to speak when I’m keeping you alive.” A pause. “I thought you said you would be more careful.”

“I was being careful,” he protested, blinking owlishly at the mage who was wrapping bandaging around his shoulder. “Was invisible; can’t… be much more careful.”

“Boss has a point,” Bull said.

“Thank you,” Callum said weakly, happy someone was on his side. He tried to give Dorian a smug grin, but in the end felt his eyes closing. He blinked them open forcefully, looking around. “The soldiers…?”

“Here’s a key,” Bull said, taking a key from the fallen Avaar. He stood, looking around.

“Bull will find them,” Dorian assured, patting Callum’s good shoulder. “Now stop moving.”

His eyes fell closed again, and this time he didn’t bother re-opening them.

xXx

He woke sometime later, to Dorian’s scowling face as he applied another poultice to his wounded shoulder. The fog in his mind took a moment to lift, but when he was able to find his voice, he licked his dry lips, blinking up at the mage.

“So on a scale of one to ten, how pissed are you at me?”

“I hate you,” Dorian said without missing a beat, smoothing the bandages onto his shoulder.

Callum smiled faintly. “That bad, huh?”

“I tell you to be more careful and you nearly bleed to death from a _shoulder_ wound.”

“I don’t do anything halfway.”

“Clearly.”

“I’m sorry, okay? How was I supposed to know he had that Maker-forbidden axe? Or that my shoulder would betray me?”

Dorian narrowed his eyes at him. “If this is you being more ‘careful’, I am not sure you know the meaning of the word.”

“I was cloaked!” Callum protested, pushing himself into a sitting position. Dorian’s eyes narrowed further but he allowed it, so Callum figured he was well out of danger. “He just got in a lucky swing! I don’t even know how it happened – who the fuck is _that_ blighted lucky?”

Dorian shook his head. “You should not have been so near to him.”

“I have _daggers_ ,” he said slowly, eying the mage. “Not all of us have nifty little staves to fling spells as we please. I have to actually get up close to attack people, hence why I go _invisible_.”

“Then perhaps you should have been more quiet.”

“I was a cat! I could not have been more quiet unless I was dead! No, scratch that – dead people get bloated and can make noises, so we’re not using that comparison.”

Dorian’s expression cracked somewhat, his lips twitching upward faintly.

“You’re a Necromancer,” Callum said, smirking at him. “You know I’m telling the truth.”

“You are still an ass for getting hurt _again_.”

“What can I say? It’s a gift.”

“It is not a gift I want nor need.”

“Well it’s not always about you, now, is it?” he asked with a grin, moving to get to his feet. Dizziness slammed into him and he grabbed at his head even as he managed to take a few steps, with Dorian suddenly hovering at his side. “I’m fine. And wow, you can move fast for a mage.”

“As opposed to… what? A dead body?” Dorian asked, scowling. “And would you please stop moving so much? If you start bleeding again, I will kill you.”

“Kind of defeats the purpose of you patching me up,” Callum pointed out with a quick chuckle even as he patted Dorian on the shoulder – the same shoulder he himself had injured. “But thanks, by the way. I know you’re not a healer.”

“I am going to make certain we bring a healer from now on,” Dorian vowed.

“That’s not a terrible idea, Boss,” Bull pointed out, once they reached the fire at their campsite. Callum released Dorian’s shoulder and smiled at the Qunari.

“How are things, Bull?”

“Your mage is getting antsy the longer we stay,” Bull said, poking at the embers in the fire to keep it hot and bright, “other than that, things are great.”

“I am not _antsy_ ,” Dorian muttered under his breath.

“Well, now that the boss is awake, you’re not,” Bull agreed with a smirk.

Dorian was blushing again. Callum patted one red cheek before he sat next to Bull at the fire.

“Did you free the soldiers? Were they okay?” he asked.

“Yes, they’re fine, Boss,” Bull said with a quick nod. “They scampered off as soon as we freed them.”

“Good,” he said with a smile.

“Of course, your mage was a bit preoccupied at the time.” This was said with a quick, pointed look at Callum.

Callum felt like he was two-years-old, getting scolded by a parent. He scowled. “I’m _sorry_ , how was I supposed to know he would randomly swing through the air like a madman?”

The Iron Bull chuckled, poking at the embers once more. Callum sat back a little more on the log he and Bull sat on.

“I’m starving,” he said. “Who wants to cook for me?”

“I’ll leave that to the Vint.”

Dorian scowled, the blush starting to die away. “I do have a name, you know.”

“Do you? You all look alike to me.”

It was a typical argument between the two. The familiarity of it left Callum smiling and relaxing as he looked into the flames of the fire.


	35. My Name is Schuyler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke is stressed which means drinks are in order. This leads to a conversation Callum's not sure he's ready for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasp* Another chapter! And so soon! Like only a few hours after last chapter! I honestly don't know where this chapter came from; I took something for my head and when I came out of the really loopy stage, this was written xD So I'll be reading it along with you guys. Fun ;) Anyway, I hope to maybe get into Here Lies the Abyss soon, but I make no promises. Perhaps by chapter 40 xD It certainly won't all be in one chapter. So between chapters 35-40, hopefully. Anywho, please comment!! :D

Chapter Thirty-Four: My Name is Schuyler

 

Life at Skyhold could be rather chaotic. Callum didn’t quite appreciate this as much until Hawke suddenly appeared in his room, looking sick to his stomach as he shut the door behind him. Callum’s fingers uncurled form where they’d immediately gone to the hilt of one of his daggers which were attached to his back like always, and he relaxed as he offered Hawke a confused smile.

“Hey?”

Hawke scowled at him. “I need somewhere to stay for like… an hour at least.”

“Of course,” Callum said slowly. “What are you hiding from? I can’t imagine it’s Fenris.”

Hawke tilted his head partially. “He and Anders are arguing again, but that’s not the issue.”

“Oh. Well, then what is?”

It took a lot to get Hawke this rumpled, after all. He was the Inquisitor for a reason. He was very good at his job. Callum could only imagine what the Inquisition would have been like if he hadn’t agreed to the job; if he _himself_ had somehow acquired the title and position. He shuddered at the thought. He wasn’t very good in charge.

Hawke waved a dismissive hand. “Just _things_. I had to sit in that throne and judge a man for flinging a _goat_ at Skyhold today.”

“A goat,” Callum repeated flatly. “You’re not joking.”

“I wish I was joking,” Hawke sighed, shaking his head, running his fingers through his already disheveled hair. He must have done it a lot lately.

“And why was this man flinging a goat at us?”

“Because of what you did in the Fallow Mire,” Hawke said, shrugging pathetically. “How should I know?”

“And how did you punish this man?”

To his knowledge, there had only been a few instances where Hawke had to actually sit on the throne – and yes, Josephine did force him to sit on it – and judge people’s actions or lack-there-of. Callum had only been privy for one of those judgments, about a noble with potential thoughts of assassinating someone here in Skyhold. Whether or not it was the Herald or the Inquisitor he was after was never told, but Hawke judged him and sent him to the dungeons beneath Skyhold for the time being, until they were a little more organized.

They’d only been at Skyhold for just over a month, after all. The castle was cleaning up nicely, but it was still a mess with holes in the walls and everything. It would take time, but a part of Callum enjoyed helping out around Skyhold. It gave him something to do so he wouldn’t have to focus on the glowing mark on his hand.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Hawke sighed, making this disgusted face, and Callum couldn’t help but laugh as he patted the spot next to him on his bed, shutting the book he’d been reading and pushing it aside.

“Join me,” he said. “Talk to me. Cry.”

“I’m not going to cry.”

“Your face begs to differ,” he pointed out with a smirk, which earned him a glare in return. “You obviously need to vent or at least relax a little. I’m surprised you’re not with Fenris.”

It was hard to find Hawke without Fenris at his side, or at the very least within sight. Callum didn’t blame the elf, though; Hawke had a hard title, had to make a lot of difficult decisions about this war and everything, and now Corypheus, after they already had a past with the darkspawn…

Callum couldn’t imagine any of it was easy. He knew it was taking a toll on Hawke, but Hawke rarely let it show. It was part of why he was a fantastic leader to everyone.

He’d had practice, though, in Kirkwall, before the uprising. Before the war. Before Corypheus’ return to power.

“Anders is back,” Hawke said, sitting next to him on his large bed, fingers rubbing tentatively at his head. Callum winced in sympathy, understanding the headache his friend had to have had. “We need him. Fenris knows this. Now we have two good healers with us – Vivienne and Anders. And I can think of no better healer than Anders.”

Callum nodded. Despite their differences, the two were still friends and no matter what happened, Hawke respected Anders’ abilities. No matter what he did in Kirkwall, he was still an amazing healer, and that was sorely needed right now.

“Of course, this doesn’t stop Fenris from arguing,” Hawke sighed.

“Brandy?”

Hawke blinked owlishly at him. “Hmm?”

“I offered you alcohol. Just say yes.”

Hawke smiled, features lightening somewhat. “Yes, that sounds great, thanks.”

Callum nodded and got to his feet, moving toward his desk. “I was saving this for a special occasion, but it looks like you could use it.”

“Thanks,” Hawke said, watching him pop open the cork and begin to pour some of the liquid into a glass. “You’re the best.”

“Well, of course I am,” Callum said with a wink, pouring a second glass. “Someone has to be the best.”

“Someone,” Hawke echoed.

Callum capped the bottle again and carried the glasses over to the bed, handing one of them to Hawke. The mage quickly took a long drink of the dark liquid, sighing happily.

“Reminds me of the Hanged Man,” he said fondly, looking down at the amber liquid.

Callum smirked. “The pub in Kirkwall, right?”

Hawke blinked at him. “Yes. Have you ever been there?”

“I’ve been to Kirkwall, but not to the Hanged Man,” Callum said, shaking his head, drinking his own brandy. “I read Varric’s stories, though.”

A fond smile crossed Hawke’s face. “He is quite the storyteller.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

They tapped their glasses together and finished off their drinks.

“More?” Callum asked.

“Yes, please.”

He got to his feet and made his way back toward the desk, just grabbing the bottle this time. “I have more if it’s needed.”

“Secretly stashing alcohol?”

“I’m the Herald; I’m allowed to have my hidden vices.”

Hawke laughed as Callum poured him some more brandy. “I’ll drink to that.”

“You bet your ass you will.”

They finished off their new glasses and Callum poured more. “If we keep this up we’ll have to take this to the tavern,” Hawke said thoughtfully, swishing the amber liquid in his glass before taking a drink.

Callum shrugged, drinking straight from the bottle. “I’m sure I could get Bull to bring us some.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask about him, actually.”

Callum quirked a brow, swallowing some of the brandy. “Oh?”

“Yes. He calls you ‘Boss’.”

“Yes…?”

“He doesn’t call _me_ that.”

Callum couldn’t help but laugh because Hawke honestly looked like he was _pouting_. He patted his cheek and poured some more brandy into the mage’s glass. “Well, maybe I’m just a really special cookie.”

“Must be,” Hawke said with a smirk. “He calls me ‘Boss’s Boss’ or just ‘Inquisitor’, or ‘Hawke’. Why is it no one can ever say my actual name?”

This seemed a bit more bitter, and Callum paused. “You mean Caleb?”

Hawke nodded. “No one ever calls me Caleb.”

He seemed remorseful now. Thoughtful, as he looked down at his nearly empty glass.

“You don’t look like a Caleb,” Callum said absently, pouring him some more alcohol because he clearly needed it. Hawke’s eyes focused on him, blue and intense. “I mean, so maybe that’s why.”

“And what do I look like to you, then?”

Callum thought for a moment, before he shrugged. “A Hawke,” he said truthfully.

Hawke watched him briefly. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“But I could call you Caleb, if you want.”

Hawke laughed. “ _Fenris_ barely calls me Caleb. If _you_ start calling me by my first name, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“Now I _have_ to do it.”

Hawke finished his glass. “What about you?”

“Hmm? Me?”

“Mm. Everyone seems to call you by your name. How’d you get that to happen?”

A knot formed in his stomach.

_Because it’s not actually my name._

“I’m just awesome, I guess,” he said, but it sounded flat even to his own ears. He definitely had Hawke’s attention now. He closed his eyes but felt the blue gaze on him nevertheless.

“You don’t really look like a Callum,” Hawke said softly.

“I don’t?”

“Not really.”

“Then what do I look like?”

“I don’t know,” came the soft response. “Just not Callum.”

Callum opened his eyes and got to his feet, downing the last of the brandy. “If we’re going to keep talking about this, I need more alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. And maybe Dorian.”

“Maybe?” Hawke asked, but the smirk was tempered by the worried cadence in his voice.

_Nope. Not drunk enough._

“More alcohol,” he said, shaking his head.

“Am I going to hear a story about the early Callum years?”

Hawke thought he was working himself up to telling embarrassing stories.

Callum swallowed around the lump in his throat, turning away from the mage. “Yeah,” he breathed, “something like that.”

xXx

In the past decade – more than a decade – Callum had only told someone about his past _once_. Ever since he was ten, he’d only told one person about the fact he wasn’t who he said he was. He never really had to explain this before, though; he was a blade for hire, really, an assassin. He didn’t have to use his real name. He always had a new name every town they went, except for with the people who knew him.

He’d always been Callum to Emry.

And to Dorian.

And everyone else.

And the only one who truly knew otherwise was Dorian. Anders and Emry might have suspected, after facing the blood mage with the time traveling abilities – _and fuck you, Alexius, for perfecting it in the first place_ – but they had no concrete proof. Only Dorian truly knew and that was because Callum had worked up the courage to tell the story only once.

And now here he was, sitting in his room with Hawke, surrounded by copious amounts of alcohol, and he didn’t have to pay for any of it. The bartender gave it to them free since they were the Herald and Inquisitor, respectively. He didn’t question the fact they wanted so much, either, or that they didn’t want to stay in the tavern to drink it. The Iron Bull spared Callum a quick glance as they left with all of the alcohol, but said nothing, thankfully, though Callum knew the Charger knew something was amiss.

Bull was a good friend.

“So your name is Schuyler,” Hawke said after about an hour of nonstop drinking, slurring his words somewhat as he attempted to focus his eyes.

“Yes,” he said softly, and it hurt to admit it.

It hurt because Schuyler died with the rest of the Trevelyan family. It hurt because this was the part he had never told anyone, not even Dorian. Dorian knew the details of that night, knew Callum’s true name wasn’t Callum, but didn’t know exactly what the name was. Or maybe he did; perhaps the blood mage mentioned it. All he knew was he had never come right out and said it to Dorian.

And now he was telling Hawke.

It hurt, but it was oddly freeing, as well, to accept that part of his life, to claim it as his own once again.

_My name is Schuyler Trevelyan, and I’m twenty-three. Or twenty-four._

He stopped counting a long time ago. When was his true name day, again? Another thing he gave up the night his family died.

“It fits,” Hawke said, tilting his bottle back to finish it off, tongue flicking out over the mouth of the bottle. “I mean – Callum, sure, but Schuyler fits.”

Callum shrugged, twisting his bottle in his grasp. An hour of drinking and he still wasn’t quite drunk enough for this, but at least he said it. He said his true name.

“Why change it?” Hawke asked.

And the sad part was Callum knew he’d ask. It was a logical question.

He still didn’t have an answer.

“Just felt right,” he said absently.

“Well, I mean, you don’t just change who you are overnight. What did your family think of your identity crisis?”

Callum closed his eyes, the image of Sarabeth’s dead eyes playing behind the lids. “They’re dead, so they didn’t really have a say in the matter.”

Hawke went silent for a moment.

Callum kept his eyes closed, attempting to focus on his breathing. Inhale, exhale, repeat. Inhale, exhale, repeat. He could do this.

“How did they die?” Hawke finally asked, voice soft like he finally understood why they were drinking. He’d been reaching for a new bottle last Callum saw, but he hadn’t heard it open yet.

“A fire,” he said.

It was what he said whenever someone asked.

Somewhere along the line it became the truth.

_My family died in a fire. Except they didn’t._

They died before the fire, but the rest of the world didn’t know that. Only Dorian really did.

“A fire?” Hawke repeated.

“Kind of.”

“Kind of? What is that supposed to mean?”

Callum rubbed the heel of his palm into his forehead. He was going to have a killer migraine later, but that didn’t really matter right now. Right now he felt numb. “They were killed by a blood mage. The fire covered it up.”

And there it was – the second person he’d ever told this story to.

And who would have thought it would be to _Hawke_ of all people? He would have thought it would be Emry, before anyone else. But no – it was Dorian first, and now Hawke, and Emry was nowhere to be found.

_Yep, definitely a migraine._

Not that it mattered.

“Well… shit,” Hawke said.

Callum’s lips twitched into a weak smile. “Yeah,” he sighed, “something like that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is.”

“Did you at least catch who did it?”

“Yes,” he said curtly.

“A blood mage killed my mom,” Hawke admitted, and Callum opened his eyes to blink at the mage, who was looking at the unopened bottle in his hands. He tilted it this way and that, as though it were truly interesting. “He’s dead.”

“That’s good,” Callum said with a grim smile. He held up his half-empty bottle. “To avenging families.”

Hawke nodded, tapping his bottle to Callum’s. “To avenging families.”

They drank for a little while longer in this odd sort of silence Callum didn’t really mind.

“Does Dorian know?” Hawke asked, breaking the silence.

Callum closed his eyes, resting his forehead against his bottle. “Yeah, he knows.”

_He was the first one I told._

“Who else knows?”

“Just the two of you, I think.”

“Well… I’m flattered you told me.”

Callum smiled grimly. “It’s not a very good story.”

“Well – we can’t all be Varric.”

“You have a point, my spell-bound friend.”

More drinking.

“So why did you say you might need Dorian?”

Callum tried to remember the words, but his brain was fuzzy. “Did I?”

“Yes, before you said we should get drunk.”

“Oh. Right. Because he’s the only person who knew until now, I guess.”

He wasn’t sure why he wanted Dorian here. The mage just put him at ease most of the time, and his nerves had been high for a bit. Talking about this was never easy, even if it was only the second time he’d told this particular story, and he had only told Hawke the bare minimum.

This was cake compared to when he told Dorian, he supposed. He had to get into all the gory details while standing in the empty field that used to be his home.

“Fenris is going to hate me.”

“Oh?” He slid his gaze toward the mage. “Why’s that?”

It came out more like ‘ai’s sat’ but oh well.

“He doesn’t like me getting drunk without him. Apparently I get a bit handsy.”

Callum snickered. “Well, if you try feeling me up you’re going to be a bit disappointed.”

Hawke laughed; it was a pleasing sound. “If you try it, you might get frozen, or zapped.”

“Keep your hairy legs over there, then.”

“You like my hairy legs?”

“Hairy legs are the best,” Callum said distantly, closing his eyes as he rested his head on his nearly empty bottle again. Fuck, his head was really starting to hurt. Thankfully the rest of his was rather numb at the moment.

“Tell me about Dorian’s hairy legs.”

Callum burst out laughing, unable to stop himself despite the fact it only made his headache worse. He tossed Hawke a sharp grin. “They’re warm and fuzzy.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Okay – they’re warm and fuzzy when he’s not kicking you with them while you sleep,” he amended with a laugh, downing the rest of his bottle finally, reaching for another one. “What about Fenris?”

“Elves don’t have body hair,” Hawke said.

“I wasn’t asking about the hair, but thanks for telling me. Now I’m definitely not touching him.” He smirked at the thought as he popped open this new bottle and took a long chug of the frothy liquid. “I meant how are things between you two?”

“Good, when he’s not threatening to kill Anders,” Hawke said with a grimace.

“Thank the Maker I don’t have that problem.”

“Lucky you.”

“Yeah,” he said wistfully, flexing his left hand. “Lucky me.”

“So do I have to threaten to kill Anders, or can anyone join this party?” came a voice from the doorway.

Callum startled, reaching for his daggers even as he spun to face the door, nearly falling off the bed in the process as the room spun around him. Thankfully he’d taken his daggers off earlier, to avoid this very thing. He flashed Dorian a quick smile.

“Dori!” he said cheerily. “Come get drunk with me!”

“Looks like you managed that on your own,” Dorian mused, eying him with a small smirk even as he stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him.

“Do you never knock?” Hawke asked, though he didn’t actually sound irritated, only bemused.

“I did knock,” Dorian said, “but I was ignored and overheard something about murdering Anders.”

“Fenris is threatening Anders again,” Callum said, watching the way his mage moved. A grin spread across his face. His mage. He liked that, he decided. He liked that a lot. “Come sit with me!”

Dorian shook his head but did as he was told, moving across the room to sit next to Callum. “How much have you had to drink, exactly?”

“I’ve only been drinking for about two hours,” Callum said with a frown. “I think.” He looked at Hawke, raising a brow.

Hawke shrugged, taking a chug of his alcohol. “Don’t look at me; I’m not good at time. Always late to everything.”

“And you call yourself the Inquisitor,” Callum accused, but Hawke and Dorian only burst out laughing even though he was being serious. “What?”

“Sound it out,” Dorian said smugly. “In-quis-it-or.”

Callum glared at the Necromancer. “It’s a long word, okay?”

“He has a point,” Hawke said.

Dorian smirked and rolled his eyes. “This is why you shouldn’t get drunk, _Amatus._ ”

“I demand you tell me what that means.”

Hawke laughed again. Callum frowned. He thought for sure he pronounced all of that right.

“It means ‘beloved,” Hawke said with a smile.

Dorian’s face turned completely red and he looked away. Callum grinned, a burst of warmth flowing through him. It could have been the alcohol. “So you _love_ me, Dori?”

“I hate you.”

“Denny says otherwise,” Callum said in a sing-song voice, practically throwing himself into Dorian’s lap, arms looping around his neck as he smiled goofily. Dorian’s face brightened further.

“What are you doing?”

“Hugging you,” Callum said simply. “I can’t hug Denny but I can hug you, so it works I guess.”

Hawke laughed. “And on that note, I’m leaving.”

He got to his feet and staggered.

“Don’t fall,” Callum warned.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Hawke retorted, rolling his eyes. “If the door would just stop moving…”

Callum watched, amused, as Hawke staggered toward the door and managed to finally open it and step out of the room. After the door closed behind him, he looked back at Dorian, who was simply watching him as he sat in the mage’s lap.

“Hi,” he said with a big smile.

“Hello,” Dorian said, quirking a brow despite the blush dusting his cheeks. “You reek of alcohol.”

“But you love me anyway.”

The blush brightened.

“Aw, hello, Denny!”

He kissed Dorian’s cheek and Dorian shoved him away with a scowl, wiping at his cheek where he was just kissed.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Not nearly enough,” Callum sighed, mirth dying away as he looked away from Dorian’s perfect face.

“ _Amatus_?”

The concern in Dorian’s voice was touching. The burst of warmth at the moniker wasn’t unexpected.

“I told Hawke.”

“Told Hawke what?”

“That I’m a dragon.”

Dorian’s brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

He snickered before the smirk died away. “I told him about my family. About… my actual name.”

“I see,” Dorian said slowly, brows pulling closer together. “That couldn’t have been easy.”

“It was terrible,” Callum said with a nod. “But I told him.” He took in a slow breath, black dots flashing across his vision momentarily. Fuck, he was thirsty. “My name is Schuyler. Schuyler Trevelyan.”

Dorian smiled sadly, not quite reaching his eyes. “I know that, _Amatus_.”

“Right. Blood mage and his stupid fucking mouth.”

“ _Amatus_ …”

He relaxed into the warmth that was Dorian’s chest, resting his head on the mage’s shoulder. His exposed shoulder because of his wardrobe. “I like it when you call me that,” he said quietly.

Dorian stiffened around and beneath him, before a warm arm came around him. “ _Amatus_.”

_Yes, don’t ever stop saying it._

It was the one title he didn’t hate.

It was the one name that didn’t feel like a lie.

“Dorian…”

He was _Amatus_ , and Dorian was his.

He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. All around him was Dorian – in the air, beneath him, around him… all Dorian.

“I like us.”

“Hmm?” Dorian hummed, the vibrations soothing beneath Callum’s cheek, on the mage’s shoulder.

“I like us,” he said again, a bit louder. “I like what we have, how we are.”

“As do I,” Dorian replied fondly.

He didn’t often speak fondly, but the cadence in his voice was noticeable nevertheless, even to Callum’s foggy brain at the moment. He liked that tone. Liked it a lot.

“Why did you come here?” he couldn’t help but ask, a few minutes later.

It was strange, really – him just sitting on Dorian’s lap with his head on Dorian’s shoulder, nearly falling asleep while Dorian’s arms wound around him, keeping him in place. It was comfortable and yet awkward, but he wouldn’t change a thing.

“To check on you,” Dorian replied. “Bull thought something was amiss. He told me you took the tavern to your room.”

Callum smiled against Dorian’s smooth skin. “Glad you’re here, Dori.”

More silence for a moment.

Then lips buried in Callum’s hair. “Me too, _Amatus_. Me too.”


	36. Something Like That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It might be the alcohol talking... but Dorian's not stopping him, and Callum is all too happy to lose their clothes. (Or in other words: It FINALLY happens.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly not sure where this chapter came from xD Like, I had 3 pages of a different chapter going and then was like "nah, fuck it, I can do this" and went back and wrote this chapter, so what I previously wrote will actually be start of next chapter. Funny how that worked out, I guess.
> 
> Anyway - um, rated M/R here, so xD I have never done detailed scenes (and this definitely isn't very detailed, but it's enough that it warrants a rating, so xD) like this for this particular fandom, or for Mass Effect. The last one was for Supernatural, years, ago, and I do have some on my original stories, but for the most part I barely write such scenes, and it always makes me feel a bit awkward xD 
> 
> But I TRIED OKAY, SO, YEAH I TRIED :D Please let me know what you think because I'm terrified of finding out gahhh
> 
> PS: This chapter wound up being way longer than I thought it would be, since it's nothing but, like, you know, sex XD It wound up being just over 5k. Shocking.
> 
> PPS: Also, I got new meds from my neurologist, and halfway through this they started kicking in, so the last break (so last like, what... third? fourth?) of the chapter, I truly don't remember what I wrote xD I'll be reading it along with you guys when I can see straight because right now I can't even see what I'm typing but if I don't post this now, I'll chicken out, so xD COMMENTS? :D

Chapter Thirty-Five: Something Like That

 

Callum had always been a bit of a ‘gropey’ drunk – which sometimes made sharing a bed with Emry awkward but not unpleasant, he found – but he could say without a doubt he had never been this ‘touchy’ with Dorian. Not that he hadn’t _wanted_ to, of course. It just always seemed so complicated.

Except for right now.

Right now it seemed so wonderfully, beautifully simple.

But then that might have been the alcohol talking.

Dorian’s lips were fire down his neck as they kissed, nipped and sucked at too-sensitive skin in all the right ways. His touch was bliss as nimble fingers moved across his body in feather-light touches. He couldn’t remember losing his shirt, but he was currently naked from the waist up, and it wasn’t enough. His clothes were entirely too constricting right now.

Judging by the bulge in Dorian’s typical attire, he wasn’t the only one who felt this way, which was more than a little satisfying. With each feather-light touch, more warmth shot through him, making his mind all the more hazy with this wonderful sort of fog. It was common of having sex, or getting ready to have sex, but he wasn’t sure this was even going to go that far, to be honest. He certainly liked Dorian, was attracted to him and _wanted_ to have sex at some point, but he wasn’t sure if that would be _right now_. Thus far, even mentioning _sleeping_ next to each other could be problematic, depending on what sort of mood the mage was in.

Of all the mages in the world, he had to choose the one with intimacy issues, and yet also a lack of intimacy issues. Dorian had no problem getting physical in the past, in Tevinter, but for some reason it was different with Callum, and the rogue wasn’t sure what to make of this. Was this good? Bad? Was there something wrong with him?

Did he not please Dorian enough? Was he not attractive enough? Did Dorian not want that type of relationship with him?

_Stop that – he **does** have an erection, you’ll note. So obviously he likes you at least a little, like that._

His mind had a point.

And not just the point in his trousers, which was beginning to become painful with how trapped it was at the moment.

“Dorian,” he breathed against sun-kissed skin, relishing in the way Dorian’s lips nipped briefly at the shell of his ear, just enough to tickle, a breath against sensitive skin. “Is this… We’re not stopping, right?”

_Please don’t tell me we’re stopping._

Maker, he wasn’t sure he could handle it if Dorian stopped him now. Stopped this from escalating. If he had to walk away with a limp due to the throbbing between his legs, and deal with this in private, _again_.

In response, Dorian kissed him silent, and whatever words he might have said were lost along the way. Their tongues connected in a dance of champions, and soon Dorian’s robe was on the ground as well, leaving the mage only in his smalls. The sight was breathtaking. Dorian was perfect, but then, this was nothing new. This wasn’t the first time Callum had this particular thought whilst looking at the mage in all of his nearly-naked glory. That didn’t make it any less true, however.

It had been a long time since Callum felt this way about someone. Come to think of it, he realized, he might not have _ever_ felt this way about someone. He’d had sex, sure, but he’d never dated. He’d never done anything like _this_ , never felt like _this_ with someone. It was why he felt so awkward, out of place – this was something new, surprising, _exhilarating._

He both loved and hated this feeling.

Loved how new and wonderful it felt.

Hated how uncertain it left him.

_Am I doing this right?_

Was he doing something wrong?

He’d never done this before. How was he to know for certain?

Dorian couldn’t answer these questions, either, of course; he admitted he’d never really dated anyone before, and he wanted more than just quick sex with Callum. Callum was all for ‘more’, even if he wasn’t sure what it entailed. They could learn together, along the way.

Again, though, it might have been the alcohol talking.

But all alcohol really did was lower inhibitions. It was why people were often more truthful when they were drunk. Their filters were lowered, down, destroyed; what came through, in speech and action, was their truest thoughts and feelings.

And right now, Callum really wanted to do something about the bulge in Dorian’s smalls. And his own, but right now Dorian’s called to him more. Maybe if he did something to please the mage, this could happen again, and without all of this awkwardness.

Yes, he rather liked the thought of that.

He liked the thought of _again_ , and _more_.

With Dorian.

Always with Dorian.

He hesitated only very briefly before his fingers toyed with the edge of Dorian’s smalls, silently asking permission. He wouldn’t do anything if it wasn’t what Dorian wanted; he wouldn’t force the mage into anything. But it was so incredibly hard to not do anything, to just look at him like this and not touch, not remove clothing, not-

“ _Amatus_ ,” Dorian said in that breathy, husky voice of his, which sent little tendrils of _right_ all through Callum’s body. His fingers closed along the lining and he carefully pulled Dorian’s smalls down his hips and then his thighs.

They were at an awkward angle, here on the bed like this, and Callum nearly toppled off the bed entirely when he continued removing the last of Dorian’s clothes, but it was worth it in the end. He flung the clothes away, the smalls forgotten the moment they left his fingertips, and then his attention focused on something much more important.

Callum had been with both men and women in the past, and they were both beautiful in their own ways. The women had soft curves and squishy lumps, if one was into that sort of thing. He admired them for their parts just as he admired men for theirs, but in the end he always returned to the men. He preferred the hard lines, the shadows hinting at muscles, the firm skin and pulsating members. Women were fine in their own right, and when it came down to it, the personality was truly what drew him to a person in the first place, but men… He liked men more.

Not that he’d ever truly done this before.

He’d only had sex in the past, nothing romantic.

Was this romantic? He truly had no idea.

He tried to think about his parents, because certainly there had been a time when they had been romantic, and it might give him something to compare this to, but in the end that only made him laugh.

Dorian’s face brightened considerably. “Maker, why are you laughing?” he asked, looking absolutely horrified, and this only made Callum laugh harder as he held the mage down on the bed, ignoring Dorian’s attempts to scramble away, out of sight.

“I’m not laughing at you, Dear,” he said with a smile, attempting to bite back the laughter. “I just – I was comparing us to my parents and it… put a very dirty picture in my mind I’d rather forget, is all.”

Dorian stared at him for a moment, the blush remaining, reddening his naturally darker skin, and making the soft brown of his eyes stand out all the more. “You see me… like _this_ for the first time, and all you can think of is _your parents_?”

“Maker, when you say it like _that_ …” And then Callum hung his head, resting his forehead against Dorian’s wonderfully bare chest, as he tried to smother more laughs which bubbled up nevertheless. “I’m sorry, Dori. I’m new at this romance stuff.”

“And you think I am a master?”

“Well…”

“I’m flattered you think so highly of me,” Dorian said, smile evident in his voice, “but I am afraid I must admit to naivety when it comes to this sort of thing, _Amatus_.”

“You say that, but then you go around calling me ‘beloved’,” Callum pointed out, grinning into Dorian’s soft skin. He lifted his head, smirking at the blush on the mage’s cheeks. “We’ll figure it out, together.”

Dorian smiled. “Together,” he said, rolling it along his tongue. “Has a nice ring to it. I like it.”

Callum grinned, kissing at the smooth skin of Dorian’s chest as he began to slip lower along his body. Dorian’s teeth bit down on his lower lip as he watched him, clearly knowing his intentions. Callum moved slowly, giving Dorian ample time to stop him if that was what he wanted, but when the mage simply stayed put and even arched up a little, into him, Callum grinned wholeheartedly and settled his hands on Dorian’s hips, holding them onto the bed. He’d never _not_ been in control, he realized with a touch of amusement. Perhaps they would have to toy with this _next time_.

Because there would be a next time.

Right?

Before the uncertainty could get to him, he took in a breath and then wrapped his lips around Dorian.

Dorian attempted to arch into him nevertheless, with this little, sharp intake of air which could have been a gasp or a sigh. Either way, it was pleasing to hear, and he hummed thoughtfully as he began to bob his head. Dorian’s fingers fisted in the covers beneath them and he might have said something like ‘ _Amatus_ ’, but by this point all Callum could really hear was the rushing in his ears, the beat of his heart.

_I’m really doing this._

It was shocking, and wonderful, and _perfect_.

Dorian tasted amazing.

 _Taste_ had always varied from person to person, he’d found. There was the same, background flavor, but each person had their own touch to it as well. And Dorian’s taste was quite nice along his tongue.

He rarely did oral like this; he never saw the point, when sex was so much faster without it. But this was Dorian, and he wanted to take his time with the mage, and he liked doing this. He liked hearing those little sounds Dorian attempted to hide, but he heard nevertheless. He _wanted_ to hear them, wanted to hear _more_ of them.

His own, neglected member twitched in protest, still locked in the confinement of his trousers. He ached to free himself but this was about Dorian. He could wait, Dorian could not.

He didn’t _want_ Dorian to wait.

If he gave Dorian time to think about this, he might run off again.

Or Callum would pull away and say something stupid, and it would lead to more misunderstandings and frustration. There had been too many of those already, and he’d been frustrated long enough. He just wanted this. He wanted this right now. He was so tired of waiting, and Dorian wasn’t stopping him.

Later he could blame his over-eagerness on the alcohol, but for right now… right now, he was going to take what he wanted, because Dorian was letting him. He hadn’t yet attempted to push him away or stop him, and all he had to say was ‘stop’, or something like it. All he had to do was say the word, or push at his chest, and Callum would stop, pull away, give Dorian his clothes… He would do whatever the mage wanted.

And it was in that moment he realized he might be in a little over his head. Of course, he’d known that since they started this… _whatever_ it was, between them. He’d known he was in over his head because this was all new to him – the potential ‘romance’, the _more_ … everything. But this… knowing that Dorian held such sway over him, over his actions…

It was terrifying and freeing all at once, and he’d never felt so conflicted in his life, but it was a _good_ kind of conflicted, if that made any sense.

Then again, his mind was a little screwed at the moment, between the haze of alcohol and the sexually driven hormones.

He pulled away just as he knew Dorian was about to come for him. Dorian made this sound of protest, and Callum grinned at him, licking at his lips as he looked into Dorian’s whiskey brown eyes. “Not yet,” he all but purred, and Dorian swallowed thickly, staring up at him.

This was new for Dorian, too, he kept reminding himself.

All of Dorian’s previous trysts had been chaste, quick, hidden; he didn’t want that with Callum, which was why they waited, why they were taking their time… and it showed on Dorian’s face, how much he wanted this, how uncertain he was…

At least Callum wasn’t alone in that respect.

“Tell me, Dori,” he whispered breathily, kissing his way up the length of the mage’s sturdy, firm body, “what is it you would like me to do, hmm?”

Dorian snapped his mouth shut, swallowing again. His face was red, but then that was nothing new, even though it was still incredibly adorable. Callum lingered along Dorian’s chest before making his way toward his neck, kissing the pulse-point in his throat before finally dragging his lips up to meet Dorian’s own lips.

“I’m going to make you say it,” he said quietly, into those soft lips, Dorian’s mustache tickling his skin briefly, “and you know I’m going to make you, so you might as well tell me.”

“You’re terrible,” Dorian said roughly, as Callum pulled away, giving him a chance to breathe properly.

Callum chuckled. “I’ve been called worse. You like this, though, yeah?”

He hated the touch of uncertainty hidden in his words. Dorian must have noticed, because he smiled faintly, catching his eye and holding his gaze.

“Yes, _Amatus_ ,” he breathed, “I like this. Maker, a lot.”

“Well, good. Then tell me what you want.”

Dorian sucked in a breath. “Maker, the things you say.” He closed his eyes.

“Hey, don’t hide those pretty eyes from me,” Callum chided, tapping a finger against his cheek, grinning when the brown eyes opened again. “Much better.” He took in a slow breath. “So – it occurs to me that we are going to have sex.”

Dorian cracked a small grin. “Something like that.”

“Which is all very well and good, of course, but that does pose a question.”

Hesitation. “Oh? And what is that?”

“Well, here’s the thing – I’ve never bottomed. Well, okay, _once_ , but I was _really_ drunk and don’t really remember, so it doesn’t really count.”

Dorian looked up at the ceiling, avoiding eye contact as he, too, took in a slow breath. “I have done both,” he admitted.

“Yes, that. I was wondering. What would you prefer?”

“What do _you_ prefer?”

Callum shrugged, trailing fingers down the smooth, warm skin of his mage. He smiled. His mage. Yes, he definitely liked that. “I would really like to dominate you, but that is really your decision, Dori.”

Another breath from the mage. “Yes, that.”

“Hmm?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

Dorian closed his eyes. “You’re terrible. You’re going to make me say it.”

“I already told you that, Dori.”

“ _Yes_ , I would also like you to dominate me.”

Callum grinned wolfishly. “Hearing you say that was perfect, you know. Alright, Dori. I’m just going to get the grease.”

A lot of the times he had sex, he rarely used the grease, or lube, whatever one wanted to call it. Mostly he used saliva, as it was usually when he was drunk, in a room at some tavern, after a successful job. But he didn’t want to hurt Dorian, even accidentally, so he would use the grease.

Buying it was a random thought one day, when it occurred to him he actually did want sex with Dorian. It was after joining Skyhold, of course, after the merchants’ shops were set up throughout the area. After having a near-death experience at the hands of a magister refusing to acknowledge the fact he was a darkspawn, one thought about such things – like what they wanted. And he wanted Dorian. And he thought ahead, just in case.

Just in case he got lucky and things went his way for a change.

He kissed Dorian’s cheek and then rolled off the mage and left the bed to retrieve what he needed.

xXx

_Maker, this is really happening._

Dorian felt childish for being so surprised and uncertain about all of this. He’d had sex before, after all; numerous times. It was all quick and meaningless, but that didn’t mean anything, really. It was still sex. So he really shouldn’t have felt so embarrassed right now, because really, if anything, the fact it was Callum should have made him feel _more relaxed_ , not more _hesitant_.

But it was Callum, and that changed everything.

He could say honestly that he’d never felt this way before. How could he have, though? Even if his ‘choices’ were truly accepted in Tevinter, how would he know what this feeling was? He would have still been forced to marry someone he didn’t like. He would grow to hate the person, just like his parents, and then eventually there would be a child involved in everything, further complicating things. Even if by some sheer, random luck he was allowed to actually marry the gender he preferred – and the thought itself was absurd – it would still be an arranged marriage, most likely. And there was no love to be found in such an affair.

But did he love Callum?

It was true that he called him ‘beloved’… but it just seemed like an appropriate title for the rogue. _Amatus_. It all made perfect sense.

But actually coming out and saying – or thinking – those actual words…

He’d never felt this way before, so how was he to truly know if it was love, or some complicated blend between friendship and lust? Or was that what love was, anyway?

_Maker, please stop thinking about this right now._

He watched Callum walk away from the bed. He’d yet to remove his trousers, much to Dorian’s disappointment. He sat up just enough to keep an eye on the rogue as he made his way across the room, pushing his palms under him to hold himself up in this odd, half-sitting, half-leaning sort of way.

Callum eventually found what he was looking for, and returned to the bed. Dorian scowled at him, causing the rogue to stop, frowning slightly. The uncertainty in those copper-green eyes left his resolve hardening, his confidence returning, if ever-so-slightly. Dorian often felt confident, except for when it came to this, he found. When it came to ‘more’, and _this_.

“What?” Callum asked.

“Lose the clothes, _Amatus_ , it’s only fair.”

A slow smile worked its way across the rogue’s face, predatory and calm, and a shiver inched up Dorian’s spine in all the right ways. Callum shucked off his trousers and kicked them aside, finally freeing himself from the confines of his clothing, and the look on his face said it all – _that was much better._

Dorian was inclined to agree.

He’d seen Callum nearly naked before. He’d seen him naked in his dreams. But none of that could hold a candle to the real thing, he decided. Smooth, flat skin giving way to pulsating-

“Like what you see?” Callum all but _purred_ , and Dorian swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat.

“But of course,” he said with a smile.

Maker, he felt like he was fifteen again, fooling around with someone for the first time. Which was truly ridiculous. He was a grown man, and it wasn’t like he’d never seen someone naked before. It wasn’t like he’d never had sex before. But somehow this was different, because this was Callum, and he _wanted_ things to be different with Callum. Different than they’d been in the past.

Callum poured some of the grease into his open palm, before moving said palm toward his member. Dorian stared, knowing he should probably look away, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. They were going to have sex, after all; he was allowed to look. They were… _something_ , so he was allowed to look all he wanted, and he had no reason to feel embarrassed. This was Callum.

All the dreams rushed back to Dorian. The desire demons… everything.

Nothing could compare to the real thing.

“Let me touch you,” he said without realizing he’d drawn the breath to do so.

Callum’s eyes widened, pupil’s blown in clear desire, and he nodded quickly before sitting on his knees on the bed in front of Dorian, hands held awkwardly at his sides like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Dorian took in a slow breath before he wrapped his own hand firmly around Callum’s throbbing member, spreading the grease more along it. That would be inside of him soon. The thought was as exhilarating as it was terrifying, he decided.

He liked sex. Sex was good.

But this was Callum, which made it… _more_.

And it was terrifying, in a way, but also wonderful, and he was growing impatient.

It had been so long since he’d had sex. He blamed his eagerness on that, and on the fact he’d had dreams of the rogue for a while now.

“Dorian,” Callum said in that husky voice of his, and it took all Dorian had not to pull the rogue toward him and _make_ him hurry up, “ _touch me_.”

He already was, he noted with an amused smirk, happy to realize Callum was just as excited about this as he was. He continued his movements, slipping closer to the rogue. He would have kept going except for the fact Callum held out a hand, taking in a deep breath.

“Whoa, _fuck_ , okay – um – if you want me inside of you, you’re going to have to stop,” he said breathlessly, smiling apologetically at Dorian. “It’s – It’s been a while.”

“For me as well,” Dorian reminded him.

Callum blinked slowly. “Um. Right. Yes, that. Okay, so – n-now?”

 _Yes!_ Dorian’s mind screamed. _Now! Right now!_

“Now,” he said around a thick, dry tongue.

Callum grinned. “I can start working you in now?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Alright, Dori. Turn around.” Callum poured some more grease onto his palm. Dorian eyed it, knowing he would have to be prepared first, but all he wanted right now was-

But that didn’t matter, because this was logical. It had been a while, and this was new for both of them – well, new with them doing this with each other – and so this needed to happen. Had to happen. He would just have to deal with it and hope it was fast, so they could get to the _good part._

He turned as instructed. He’d bottomed before, but no one had really bothered prepping him first. Only on his first time, really; after that he stretched himself, or just went with it. If it hurt, oh well, it was just part of it. Now, though…

Callum’s cold, slick finger against his warm hole left him stiffening, but he relaxed as the rogue pushed inside. After some careful movements, another finger was added, and then another. Dorian bared with it, impatient for what he really wanted, eager anticipation nearly making him breathless.

By the time Callum deemed him ‘ready’, Dorian was about to just come out and _tell_ him to just do him already. To _ask_ him. Beg was a strong word, but it was on the tip of his tongue by this point.

But finally – _finally_ – he felt the slick firmness of something _else_ touching against his entrance; something much more important. He steeled himself eagerly. It had been a long time; he was allowed to want this. He was allowed to be eager, as he kept reminding himself.

“ _Fuck_ , Dori, still so _tight_ ,” Callum breathed from behind him, and Dorian swallowed, closing his eyes as Callum pushed all the way in, finally, and then stopped, giving him a moment to relax and get used to his size. “Tell me when you’re good, Dori.”

Dorian took in a few deep breaths. Years since he had sex, and it was taking him longer than he would have thought for him to get used to it. The impatience won out over the mild discomfort, though, and he nodded, motioning for Callum to continue. He’d waited for this too long already; he just wanted this, _now_.

Callum moved, and it was perfect.

The pain – discomfort – gave way to sudden pleasure, shooting through him like a hot bullet. He gasped and arched his back even as Callum’s fingers dug into his hips, keeping him firmly pinned on the rogue for the time being, but he was perfectly fine with this.

And then came Callum’s chosen rhythm, with a few changes here and there; sometimes normal, fast, slower…

This continued for several long moments, and it felt amazing, but Dorian _knew_ Callum was holding back on him. He just knew it. He tossed a scowl over his shoulder, and caught Callum grinning back at him.

And then finally he shifted a tiny bit and he started hitting _that spot_ over and over, the pleasure boiled over.

xXx

Dorian came down from his haze of bliss sometime later, half-asleep and barely aware of his surroundings as he lay in bed with Callum curled warmly into his side. They were both still naked, but at least beneath the covers now. Callum had that little half-snore going for him – the deeper breaths which were _almost_ snores, but not quite. His head rested against Dorian’s shoulder while his arm was somewhere under the rogue, and he was quite sure he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore, but he’d worry about that later.

Right now he just wanted to enjoy this moment.

For the time being, it was peaceful, and right.

It was late, too, and chilly. But then it was always cold in the frosty mountains. Skyhold was surrounded by the blighted things, so of course it was usually always freezing. Callum’s quarters offered a nice view, with his balcony, but it also left the place rather chilly at times. Dorian burrowed further beneath the warm, soft covers, sighing contentedly.

The bright side was that Dorian didn’t have to worry about anyone interrupting them right now. The down side was that when he walked out of here tomorrow morning, everyone would know what happened. They knew Callum was drinking, and they knew Dorian went up here to check on him… and never returned. And he would leave tomorrow, wearing rumpled clothing… and they would know.

_Let them._

He didn’t care what they thought, he decided. Once upon a time he kept secrets, in Tevinter, for the sake of ‘title’ and ‘reputation’, but now he didn’t care. He liked Callum; he wasn’t going to be ashamed about it like he used to be in Tevinter. This wasn’t the Imperium; this was _Skyhold_ , the _Inquisition_ , and if he wanted to announce to everyone that he and Callum had sex, then that was what he was going to do.

He wouldn’t do it, of course, but the thought that he _could_ , and not be terribly perturbed about it, left him smiling nevertheless. It was progress.

He wondered, vaguely, what his parents would think if they saw him now.

If they saw him happy, with Callum. Would they see him happy, or would they say he was wasting his time, and then attempt to whisk him off back to Tevinter?

_And the evening started off so wonderfully._

Callum shifted, hair tickling Dorian’s nose since his own head was tilted that way as well. He rolled his head enough to look up at the ceiling while Callum slid closer to him, their legs a tangled mess. There was a leg against his thigh and he honestly wasn’t sure if it was his other leg, or one of Callum’s. It didn’t really matter.

“Dorian…?” came the soft, tired voice, and Dorian lowered his gaze toward barely-parted copper-green eyes.

He smiled. “Hello, _Amatus_.”

A big, goofy smile lit up Callum’s face, only just visible from the moonlight and the candles across the room. “So it really happened, huh? Not a dream?”

Dorian smiled fondly. “No, _Amatus_ , not a dream. It was real.”

Callum relaxed further into him. “Thank the Maker. I wasn’t sure I could seduce you again, if it wasn’t real.”

Dorian spluttered. “You – What – _That_ was you _seducing_ me?”

Callum chuckled, the vibrations tickling him. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Dorian scowled at him. “Sometimes I wonder why I mess with you.”

“Because you love me,” Callum quipped back instantly, with that innocent little smile, and Dorian looked back up at the ceiling, taking in a slow breath.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “something like that.”

Fingers tapped at his cheek. “Hey. None of that.”

“None of what?” he asked, dragging his gaze back to Callum’s face, which was now equipped with a frown.

“No declarations of love or anything like that,” Callum demanded.

“And why is that?” Dorian asked, mostly because he was just curious.

“You are not allowed to say you _love_ me after we had sex; it’s the hormones talking. Same for me, saying it to you.”

“Then when would an appropriate time be, exactly?”

Callum shrugged, his shoulder knocking into Dorian’s ribs somewhat. “I don’t know – it should be spontaneous, romantic, quirky… I don’t know. It just can’t be right after _sex_ , and definitely not during life and death situations. Hormones run high then, too, you know.”

Dorian shook his head, smiling tiredly at the rogue’s words. If he was being honest with himself, Callum’s smooth voice was lulling him to sleep. “I’ll… keep that… in mind…” he breathed, eyes finally losing the battle to stay awake, falling closed.

“See that you do,” Callum said around a wide yawn. “Night, Dori.”

He yawned. “Night, Callum.”

“You can call me Cal, you know.”

Dorian breathed in slowly. “I know.”

“Okay. Just making sure.”

He shook his head; this rogue was going to be the death of him.

“Night, again,” Callum yawned.

“Night, Cal. Again.”

Callum chuckled faintly, and then went silent.

And there in the peaceful silence of Callum’s room, the two slept as though they’d always shared a bed, and shared a life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated long and hard about who should top, but in the end I picked Callum because my version of Dorian is a bit nervous around Callum; plus I just see Dorian as the bottom for some reason, even though Callum is shorter and whatnot. I will probably toy with this, of course; perhaps Dorian will top next time, who knows xD
> 
> Originally I wasn't going to include a scene like this. I was going to fade to black, but it has scenes (kind of) like this in the game, and people seemed to expect it, so I went with it. It's very hard for me to write scenes like this for fanfiction stories as it feels awkward and usually leaves me blushing the whole time (it's crazy, I know), but I can do it just fine for my own stories, like Almost Living and that series and whatnot xD So this was a bit difficult for me, but I did enjoy the challenge, though from now on it might just be fade-to-black moments just to stay on the safe side.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, but again, I'm not very good at stuff like this so I'll understand if you hate it xD Let me know either way, though, yeah?


	37. Back to the Hinterlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callum and Dorian have some bed-talk; Hawke is a cock-block; yay, another trip to the Hinterlands!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I got no comments last chapter, no new kudos, and I lost a bookmark. So I am just going to assume the chapter sucked. I'm sorry. I will never write another rated E scene for any characters that are not my own, ever again. Sorry you had to witness it. Hopefully you're still here to keep going; there won't be more of it, I promise.

Chapter Thirty-Six: Back to the Hinterlands

 

Callum woke to warmth nestled into his side. He grinned before he even woke, because while Dorian sometimes slept next to him, he was careful to never be _this_ close. He seemed afraid to touch him half the time. Memories of the night before returned, along with a headache from the alcohol. Instead of grimacing, his grin only widened as he rolled toward that source of warmth and found his head resting on Dorian’s exposed shoulder, the covers coming up to just under his elbows, hinting at what was beneath. They were both still naked, he noted with a quiet, breathy chuckle.

The sound roused Dorian, it seemed, as the mage made this little noise and his eyes slowly fluttered open. For a moment he stared up at the ceiling in confusion, before his gaze drifted toward Callum.

“Still not a dream, huh?” Callum asked quietly.

Dorian smiled faintly, yawning somewhat. “No, _Amatus_ ; still not a dream.”

“Good.”

Even in his dreams, Dorian had never looked this good. He’d never looked as great as he had last night, and it was a shame Callum had been more than a little drunk, as certain parts of his memory were fuzzy. He didn’t want to forget a moment of what happened between them. It wasn’t a dream. It was real.

“I thought we’d never get here,” Callum said, unaware he’d actually spoken the words allowed until Dorian chuckled faintly next to him.

“I like playing hard to get,” Dorian said.

Callum quirked a brow as he pushed himself up on one elbow, looking down at the mage. “Oh? And now?”

Dorian smiled wholeheartedly. “I’m gotten.”

Callum lowered himself enough to capture the mage’s lips. “So you’re mine now?” he whispered against those supple lips he could bite for days.

Dorian went silent beneath him, before arms suddenly wound around him and they rolled, with Dorian now sitting on top of him, looking down at him with a smile. The breath slipped from Callum’s lungs at the sudden change, and the look in Dorian’s eyes. Dorian needed to look at him like that more often, that was all there was to it.

“I am yours,” Dorian replied with this smile which did things to Callum’s heart, making it beat faster even as Dorian leaned his head down to share another kiss with him. As he pulled back, the hesitancy returned, and those brown eyes skittered away as his fingers rested atop Callum’s chest uncertainly. “Forgive me; I am not usually… nervous, when it comes to sex. I don’t know why I fought it for so long.”

“But you’re happy you stopped fighting, right?”

Because that was what really mattered right now.

“Yes, _Amatus_.”

Callum smiled, warmth flooding through him at the title. “You know you don’t have to be so hesitant, right? I mean – I would never force you into anything. All you have to do is tell me to stop and I will, no questions asked.”

Dorian’s expression softened further. “I know,” he said, fingers trailing a pattern across Callum’s chest. “That’s what I… adore about you.”

Callum laughed quietly. “The fact I don’t ask questions?”

“The fact you accept me as I am.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Dorian’s gaze skittered away again. His fingers stopped moving. “There are things you do not know about me. Things I have… neglected to tell you.”

“Whatever it is, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, you know?”

It wasn’t easy telling Dorian of his past, after all. He felt better after he finally told someone, knowing he didn’t have to share the burden alone, but that didn’t mean it was easy to tell him in the first place. He could understand Dorian’s reluctance, and he wouldn’t force him to speak of what was bothering him, what he thought might change Callum’s mind about him.

“I know.”

“But if you _do_ want to tell me, it won’t make me think any differently of you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

How could he ever judge Dorian, when Dorian hadn’t judged him after learning about what happened to his family?

“I… I want to tell you,” Dorian admitted with a heavy sigh, his gaze still focused elsewhere, to the left of the bed, “I just am unsure how to do so right now. Maybe… Maybe later. I’m sorry.”

“You’re perfectly fine,” Callum said, capturing one of Dorian’s hands and bringing it to his mouth. If Dorian wouldn’t let him kiss him on the lips, with how the mage was positioned on top of him still, and his gaze was still focused elsewhere, then Callum was going to kiss what he could. He kissed each finger individually, smiling when it brought Dorian’s gaze back to him.

“What are you doing?”

“Loving your fingers, obviously.”

“Why?”

“Because you won’t get down here and kiss me properly.”

Dorian’s cheeks reddened again, but he did as asked, and leaned down, allowing their mouths to connect once more. Callum wrapped his arms around the mage’s firm body and pulled him down on top of him, forcing them closer together. When they broke for air, Dorian collapsed next to him, both of them resting on their backs, looking up at the ceiling, but Callum still held one of Dorian’s hands hostage, his fingers circling around the mage’s.

“I’m… curious where this goes, you and I,” Dorian said after a moment of silence.

“Hmm?” He rolled his head toward the mage.

“I mean…” Dorian took in a long breath, keeping his gaze firmly focused on the ceiling. “We’ve had fun. Perfectly reasonable to leave things here and… get on with killing archdemons and such…”

Callum frowned, propping himself up on an elbow again, looking down at the mage who refused to meet his eyes. “Dorian…”

“I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“It this what this is to you? Fun?”

Dorian continued looking up at the ceiling.

“I want more than just ‘fun’, Dorian,” Callum said quietly, wondering what was going on in Dorian’s head. Was he wanting to run? Was he wanting to end things after they had sex? Uncertainty clawed at Callum’s throat, but he couldn’t just let Dorian walk away. He couldn’t just let him leave without a fight, because things were so _perfect_ last night…

Dorian remained silent.

Callum swallowed. “Speechless, I see.”

Dorian finally spared him a glance. “I was… not expecting your answer.”

“Why not? Do you really think I just want to have ‘fun’ with you? That after we had sex, I would just kick you out?” He stared at the mage for a moment, a knot in his stomach. “Maker, that’s really what you thought! That’s what you think of me!”

He climbed out of bed, flinging the covers away from him, standing naked in the middle of his room as he paced, clawing at his hair.

“Maker, I’m so _stupid_ …”

“Where I come from,” Dorian started, from the bed, and Callum listened but didn’t stop pacing and didn’t look at him, “anything between two men… it’s about pleasure. It’s accepted, but taken no further.”

Silence as Callum paced. Dorian continued.

“You learn not to hope for more. You’d be foolish to.”

_Foolish, huh? Foolish to want more?_

He spun and faced Dorian, catching his eye, watching the mag sitting on the edge of the bed. “So let’s _be_ foolish,” he said, approaching the bed.

“Hard habit to break,” Dorian said, but he was smiling now, the closer Callum got.

“I’m good at breaking things,” Callum pointed out with a smirk, as he stopped directly in front of Dorian.

“Hopefully not everything,” came the response as Dorian’s fingers teased the ticklish skin of his hips, all feather-light touches. He fought the urge to laugh and flee, and instead stayed put, though he did brush those ticklish touches away for the time being.

There was a knock at the door, then, and they both sort of froze.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Callum groaned, running the heel of his palm into his forehead as the door opened, since they hadn’t locked it after Hawke left. He threw a glare at whoever dared to enter, and wasn’t amused to find Hawke looking back at him now with that cheeky grin of his, as Dorian attempted to vanish under the covers.

“You should really learn to lock your doors,” Hawke said.

“I hate you,” Callum snapped, glaring at him. “What do you want? And it had better be good!”

“Calm down,” Hawke said, holding his hands out disarmingly. “There’s even breakfast waiting for you at the tavern.”

That… softened his mood a _little_ , but not much. Right now he just wanted to lay in bed with Dorian again. Was that so much to ask for?

“And what do I have to do to earn this food?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“We both have jobs to do,” Hawke said with a sigh. “And before you earn any food, your first task is to put some clothes on. I don’t like you _that_ much.”

Callum rolled his eyes and stomped toward his growing wardrobe.

xXx

“No matter what I do, I just can’t seem to be rid of the Hinterlands.”

Dorian hid a smirk at the tone of Callum’s voice as he gazed from their spot on a hill, over the crests and falls of the Hinterlands. It was true; in the end they kept winding up right back where it started – in the Hinterlands, on a hill, in the woods. The Hinterlands still held a certain fondness in Dorian’s mind; he lived here for years, after all. That did not mean he enjoyed returning here all of the time, though.

Currently, Hawke, Fenris, Vivienne and Sera were exploring and scouting the Western Approach. Hawke had a Grey Warden friend, as well as a Grey Warden brother, who might be able to help them figure out what was happening with the Grey Wardens, and why they seemed to be so absent right now. Even Blackwall was concerned about this. Dorian would confess to not having had many conversations with the Warden, but he seemed perturbed about it. So did Anders.

Anders joined him and Callum in the Hinterlands, since they decided to always have a healer in their group from now on. It just seemed like the best idea, and since Fenris and Anders couldn’t quite get along, that left Anders in their group instead. Varric also joined them, wanting to be there for them as much as Anders. Anders was doing well enough, save for his anxiety. He seemed to think everything he did had to be worthwhile; he had a lot to make up for, in his mind. Dorian knew this was partially true; Anders was the cause for the war in the first place, but he was a damn good healer and tried his best to make up for it. In light of Corypheus and everything, his role in the war seemed trivial since the war wasn’t the focus right now.

Funny how a darkspawn magister and his archdemon accomplice could throw a wrench into even the best laid plans of wars between sworn enemies. Southern Thedas had thankfully at least _attempted_ to band together to take down Corypheus and his army. Then everyone could go back to hating each other.

There had been reports through the Hinterlands of wildfires. The first suspect was rebel mages, but that had died down ever since Redcliffe, thankfully, which left a lot of unanswered questions about what was happening in the Hinterlands. As they traveled further into the Hinterlands than they ever had before, it became evident it wasn’t mages doing this.

The dragon roared as it flew overhead, its shadow dotting out the land below as they all looked up at it.

“Oh,” Anders said, “wonderful. _Dragons_.”

Dorian swallowed, looking up at the beast before it disappeared from view through the cliffsides along the horizon. Looking at the dragon reminded him of the last dragon he’d seen – the one which had helped Corypheus attack Haven. He’d been here, too, watching it fly overhead and knowing there wasn’t anything he could do about it, as it and the army headed toward Haven. He’d never felt so helpless in his entire life.

Callum’s arm brushed against his own as the rogue pushed ahead of them. “C’mon,” he said with a heavy sigh, “there are rifts nearby.”

It was one of the reasons they were back in the Hinterlands, after all; so he could close the rifts through here and finally be done with this area. No new ones seemed to be popping up, thankfully, but there were still entirely too many rifts out there right now, pouring demons into this world.

Dorian kept an eye on the sky nevertheless. So far, the dragon hadn’t returned. Hopefully it would be easy to spot a dragon flying a them and give them ample time to seek cover and attack themselves, but the last time a dragon had been involved… that hadn’t been the case.

Thinking about it only led to a headache, though, so he pushed it from his mind for the time being.

“I certainly hope Hawke’s having a better time than we are,” Varric said, walking at Dorian’s side. Dorian nodded in silent agreement. It was quite dusty near the Western Approach; hopefully there were no dragons there, though.

They approached the green glow of a rift. Callum’s fingers clenched into a fist as his left hand pulsated with that same glow, a grimace clear on the rogue’s face. Dorian sighed sympathetically; he knew it hurt to be this close to the rifts, and closing the rifts brought with it its own pain. He hoped one day, soon, this could be over and the mark could be removed.

Corypheus told Callum the mark, the ‘Anchor’, was permanent.

_No. We will find a way. We must._

It wasn’t fair to Callum for him to be stuck with it forever. It might take time, of course, but they would find a way to fix this, to rid the rogue of that painful, glowing mark.

After the demons were dealt with, Callum closed the rift and then closed his eyes, keeping his hands clenched into fists a moment longer, held stiffly at his sides. Dorian knew he was in pain, but before he could reach for him, Anders was already there, reaching for his left wrist.

“I can sooth the pain, if only a little,” the healer said somewhat apologetically. “It is temporary, of course.”

“Of course,” Callum repeated with a smirk. “Thanks, Anders.”

Dorian watched as healing magic flitted from Anders’ hands into Callum’s left hand. A moment later it was over, and Anders stepped back, dropping his hands to his sides. “Better?”

Callum nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

Whether or not it was the truth was another matter entirely, but Callum at least tried to be polite and grateful. Which, Dorian knew he was grateful for the help, even if it failed. He hoped it worked, though. If anyone could use some relief it was the rogue, he was certain.

His mind wandered, then, back toward before they left Skyhold. Back in bed with Callum. It was… wonderful, and nice, and he was eager to return to Skyhold and do it again.

It would have to wait for now, of course. It just made his mood worse the longer they stayed out here closing rifts and the like.

That, and of course the fact closing rifts hurt Callum; he didn’t enjoy seeing the rogue in pain, after all.

They were currently traveling through a part of the Hinterlands they had not been in before. The further this way they went, the darker it became, and it was decided they would make camp for the night. Even as they did so, they could hear – _sounds_ , in the distance. Dorian wasn’t quite sure what that particular sound was, to be honest, and no one was very forthcoming with the answers. They preferred to leave the sound alone and hopefully whatever was making it would leave them alone as well.

A fire was lit and the tents were set up. Callum lounged next to the fire, yawning widely as he put his daggers on the ground next to him, stretching this way and that. Dorian sat next to him as Anders went to his tent to sleep, tired after a day of healing people and traveling. Dorian couldn’t blame him. Varric also went to sleep, after having Callum promise to wake him in a few hours so he could take watch and the rogue could get some sleep. Callum had decided to take first watch despite a long day of traveling.

As the sun set fully, leaving them in darkness save for the fire, Dorian sat back with a yawn.

“It’s been a long day,” Callum said quietly, so as to not disturb the others, “you can sleep if you want.”

“I will soon,” Dorian said. “Or you could sleep, and I could take first watch.”

Callum smiled, the fire casting odd shadows across his face. “Or you could get some beauty sleep.”

“Are you saying I am ugly?”

“I would never say that, Dori,” Callum said, tossing him a quick smirk, and Dorian scowled at the rogue.

“Never?”

“Never. It wouldn’t be true, now would it?”

Dorian looked away, focusing on the fire.

“Hello, Denny,” Callum said, not unexpectedly, and the scowl deepened.

“I am not blushing.”

“You kind of are, Dear, but it’s okay.”

“Dear,” Dorian echoed. He’d thought he’d heard Callum call him that when they were in bed, but to be honest, he could have simply heard him wrong then. Now, though…

“What? You get to call me cute little names like _Amatus_ but I don’t get to call you anything?”

He had a point. Still…

He smirked and shook his head. “Whatever you wish, _Amatus_.”

Something shifted in the distance, as Dorian was getting to his feet to head toward his sleeping area. He stiffened and looked over his shoulder at Callum, who was already on his feet, silent as a ghost, his daggers held firmly in his hands as his gaze carefully scanned what they could see around them.

“I’ll be right back,” Callum said softly, his voice but a breath of air.

Dorian opened his mouth to protest – _you are the Herald; you cannot simply just run off to investigate strange sounds!_ – but by the time he found his voice, the rogue had disappeared from view, entering his stealth mode. Dorian found himself having a love-hate relationship with that ability; sometimes it worked in their favor, but when it left Callum disappearing from his side and left him unable to locate him…

Dorian paced in front of the fire, uncertain of what he should do next. He wanted to follow Callum, but knew he couldn’t just abandon Varric and Anders. He could wake them, but what if it was nothing? They needed their sleep. As he was arguing with himself and was a breath away from waking the other two, Callum returned, turning visible in front of him.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly. “But we need to keep silent.”

“What’s going on?” Dorian asked, his voice equally as quiet.

Callum hesitated only briefly, before he shrugged. “Baby dragons.”

“Baby…?” Dorian’s eyes widened. “Baby _dragons_?”

Callum nodded.

“What…? Why?”

“Well, when a mommy dragon and-” came the smartass response.

Dorian tossed the rogue a quick glare. “You know what I mean.”

Callum shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’m guessing that’s why that dragon’s around right now. We need to be careful. I don’t think it will take too kindly to us killing its babies, you know?”

Dorian nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face as he sighed heavily. “So we just – what? Sleep, knowing we could be eaten at any moment?”

“Well, I have first watch,” Callum mused with another shrug. “So do you trust me to keep watch while you rest your eyes?”

Dorian scowled; Callum knew he trusted him. That didn’t make this any easier, though, because leaving Callum to have first watch was one thing; letting it happen while there were dragons around… close enough to make noise… close enough for them to have to be quiet…

He could see the rogue’s stubborn resolve, though, and so he threw his hands in the air in exasperation and made his way to his sleeping area, which happened to be a tent he was sharing with Callum. They only had two tents, after all; Varric and Anders were sharing, and Callum and Dorian were as well.

Dorian didn’t mind this, of course. He rather liked having a warm body to sleep against, to be perfectly honest. The strange part was how _used_ to it he was becoming, and he wasn’t entirely certain what to make of that. In Tevinter, there was never really any _sleeping_ next to each other; just sex, and then Dorian was left alone while his partner fled, or he himself fled, lest his father find out. Now, though… there were no such worries. Nothing was rushed. He could take his time, and linger.

He smiled.

 _Linger_.

He rather liked to linger.

The tent flap closed behind him, and he curled up in his sleep roll.

xXx

Callum woke tired the next morning. Dorian had a restless night and kept kneeing him in the kidney every time he moved or rolled over, and they had to wake early anyway, which left him with only a few hours of sleep. Interrupted sleep, no less. He yawned as they packed up camp and began moving along again, attempting to navigate their way out of this area without attracting the dragons’ attention.

They had enough things to worry about other than dragons.

“You know,” Varric said conversationally, as they navigated the terrain, “Tiny loves this sort of thing.”

Callum snickered to himself. Varric’s nicknames were humorous, really. Tiny, Curly, Sparkler, Chuckles, Dicey…

“What sort of thing?” Anders asked.

“Dragons and such,” Varric replied, smirk evident in his voice even if Callum couldn’t see his face, as he was walking ahead of the dwarf. “He lives for this sort of thing.”

“Lovely,” Dorian muttered under his breath. “Just what we need.”

Callum hid a smirk, which was easy since he was at the front of the group, leading the way, with Dorian just behind him, and Anders and Varric bringing up the rear.

They walked in a peaceful silence for a while, before-

“Callum?”

Callum stiffened at the use of his name, as it wasn’t any of his companions who spoke it. He stopped, turning stiffly toward the sound and realized the others were doing the same, a barrier already falling over him thanks to Dorian, as Varric readied his crossbow, Bianca.

What he found, though, made him immediately stop reaching for his daggers. Instead he moved forward to intercept the others before they could get to the stranger standing in the clear just ahead of them. He threw up a hand, warning them against violent actions, and then turned to fully give his attention to the newcomer.

Sunset eyes. Dark hair.

“Emry.”


	38. Welcome to the Inquisition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emry's welcome is less than friendly. Meanwhile, dragons...

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Welcome to the Inquisition

Emry looked – different. So very different. He usually kept his hair at least a little long, long enough so that his bangs could hide his face if need be, but now it was cut so very short. Short and spiky, and uneven, like someone simply took a dagger to it with no thought for appearance, really. Some strands were longer than others but for the most part it was very short. It made his face look longer, and his eyes…

Once upon a time, Emry looked at him with fondness, those sunset eyes soft and dark all at once. Now, looking at them – all he could see was _hatred_.

A shiver shot through him.

"Emry?" he whispered around a heavy, reluctant tongue as he took a step forward, toward the elf. His friend. Emry was his friend, and he hadn't seen him in years; why was he looking at him like that? He hated that look so very much. It left him feeling two inches tall.

Those cold eyes continued to glare at him. No, not glare; that was emotion, glaring. There was… _nothing_ in his gaze. Cold. Empty. _Angry_. Hatred.

"Em?" he tried again.

This earned him a flinch.

Emry lifted his bow, aiming an arrow at him. By this point Callum was right in front of him; there was no way the elf would miss. Behind him he could hear the others getting ready for a fight, but if Emry decided to loose the arrow, there was no way they could stop it. At such close range, with it aimed at his head, not even one of Dorian's barriers could stop it.

"Whoa there," Varric said. "Everyone just calm down."

"Emry, what is the meaning of this?" Dorian snapped from just over Callum's shoulder. He could almost feel the mage attempting to reach for him, but a quick sideways glare from Emry left the movements stopping. No one wanted to tempt fate.

No sudden movements.

"You know this elf?" Varric asked.

"He's a friend," Callum replied, keeping his gaze firmly focused on Emry. "Everyone drop your weapons."

"Are you insane?" Dorian asked.

"Just do it!"

"Dicey, that doesn't seem like a good idea."

"I don't care – he won't hurt me, just do it!"

"Someone should tell _him_ that, then," Anders said with a snort.

Callum took in a slow breath. "Emry, what's going on?" he whispered softly, and Emry's teeth gritted. This close, he could see the new scars crisscrossing the elf's face.

"What game is this?" Emry hissed, speaking for the first time.

The voice was familiar, but not warm. Not warm or fondly sarcastic like it used to be between them. Instead it was filled with anger mixed with hurt, and hatred. At least it wasn't flat like he half expected it to be, given that icy look in the elf's dulled eyes.

"What game?" he asked, frowning. His fingers twitched at his sides, itching to reach for his old friend, but he knew that would not be welcome right now. It might end with him getting an arrow to the face.

Emry took a step forward, snarling under his breath, pulling back more on the bowstring.

"Just put the bow down," Dorian advised.

Emry snarled again. "What game are you playing, Dorian?"

It was the first time Emry had addressed someone other than Callum. He kept his gaze firmly on the rogue, though.

"Game?" Dorian repeated, frown evident in his voice. "This is no _game_. You are threatening to kill your friend – _that_ is what is happening right now. Put the bow down, Emry."

Dorian was attempting to reason with Emry. Once upon a time the thought would have been hilarious – the two of them used to bicker all the time! Now, though, it just left a knot forming in Callum's stomach. What kind of game did Emry think they were playing? Why did he look so icy? Why was he _hesitating_?

And that was when he relaxed, finally.

Emry _never_ hesitated. His aim was always true. He wasn't much for idle chatter. But now he hesitated with the arrow aimed at Callum's head. He looked threatening like that, certainly, and for a brief moment Callum was actually worried he was going to be taken out by his friend of all things, but clarity flooded through him and he understood. Emry was hesitating. He was confused. Something wasn't right here, but hopefully it didn't have to end in violence.

"Em," he said softly, and watched a muscle in Emry's jaw jump, "put the bow down, yeah? We can talk."

"All you tell are _lies_ ," he hissed back.

_Lies?_

Callum frowned. "When have I ever lied to you, Emry? I haven't even seen you in years!"

"Exactly!" Emry snapped, glaring at him. "Callum is _dead_!"

"I'm very much _alive_ ," Callum snapped back. "I haven't seen or spoken to you in _years_ and _this_ is what we're going to argue about first?" He stared at his friend – or, former friend. Right now it seemed like Emry hated him and he wasn't sure why.

He said he was dead.

Except he was very much alive.

He had no idea what was happening here.

"Callum is obviously not dead," Dorian pointed out helpfully. "He's right in front of you."

"Demons," Emry snapped.

"Demons?" Callum frowned. His nose itched, but he knew attempting to scratch it could get him killed so he stayed perfectly still, just watching his old friend carefully. "What demons?"

"Demons everywhere."

"I know," Callum said softly, sympathetically. He could only imagine what that was like for Emry. Once upon a time he'd been a slave to a man who had a blood mage as a friend. He never spoke about his time as that man's slave, really, but he often had nightmares that left him kicking at the nearest warm body – Callum. "We're working on it, Em."

He twisted his hand slightly, allowing his flickering palm to show. Emry's gaze finally moved from his face, his _target_ , down toward his hand, and indecision filled his face mixed with confusion.

"What is that?"

"Don't really know," Callum said. "But it's how I'm alive, I suppose."

Emry thought Callum was dead. Did he hear about the Conclave, or was this about the time traveling blood mage? Either way, Callum was alive.

In part, it was because of this mark right here, as much as he disliked it.

Those eyes narrowed somewhat again as that gaze snapped back to his face. "I saw you disappear. You can't tell me it didn't happen."

"It did happen," Callum confirmed. "Right, Dorian?"

"Yes, and he returned _like I said he would_ ," the mage replied.

"Callum would have told me," Emry said firmly, glaring at Callum. "Therefore this is a _lie_."

Callum winced. He hadn't realized his friend had that much faith in him – that he would tell him he was alive instead of just… disappearing, again, as he had. He had wanted to tell Emry, but disturbing his life after he'd found a new routine seemed… rude. Unwanted. So he stayed away, though he did check in on him from time to time, to see how he was doing.

"Emry… I _wanted_ to tell you," he said roughly, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat. "I wanted to tell you so badly, but – I just – after I returned, it was _seven months later_ , and… and you had a new life."

_And I didn't want to ruin it._

"I didn't want to disrupt your new life," he said softly, watching those once familiar eyes for any hint of the warmth they once held, but all he could see was icy resolve.

"Liar," Emry hissed, yanking the bowstring back further. At this rate it would shoot with or without his approval, should his finger slip even the slightest. " _Callum_ would have told me. Caine was right."

"Caine?"

The new information left his head spinning.

"What did Caine say about me?"

"Enough of this," Dorian said. "Put the bow down, Emry. Then we can talk like civilized adults."

Emry's gaze flickered very briefly toward Dorian. "I'm surprised at you, Vint; How could you fall for this _misconception_?"

"Miscon…?" Callum's eyes narrowed. "That's insulting, you know."

"It's Callum," Dorian said simply.

"You have been fooled by a demon."

"I'm not a demon!" Callum protested, eyes wide. Now it made sense. Emry thought he was a demon; he wasn't aiming at his _friend_ , he was aiming at a demon _pretending_ to be his friend. The fact Callum was still standing was a testament to how conflicted Emry felt right now, because Emry _never_ hesitated.

"Everyone just sit down and take it easy," Varric said calmly. "Then we can sort out all of this demon business."

He made it sound so simple.

Emry sneered. "That's enough out of you, dwarf. This is between this _demon_ and me."

"I'm not a demon," Callum said again, frowning at the elf. "What can I do to prove it to you?"

"You can't."

"That's not fair, Em – give me a chance."

"Don't call me that."

"Emry…"

Emry had such faith that Callum would tell him he'd made it back from the time travel incident. That was why he couldn't believe him now; he still held onto the belief that the old Callum…

But that was the problem.

The old Callum was dead.

Nothing remained but the name.

Telling this to Emry wouldn't end very well, though.

"Do it," he said softly.

"What!" Dorian hissed.

"Dicey, don't be hasty," Varric said.

"Are you insane?" Anders cut in.

"Do it," Callum said again, gaze focused solely on his former friend. "If you're so bloody certain I'm a demon – then do it."

"What?" Emry asked, and there was a change in his gaze, a flicker of – _something_.

He inhaled slowly. "Do it," he repeated firmly. "Look me in the eye and do it. If I'm a demon, then it won't matter, right?"

Dorian was cursing behind him, in Tevene. One day Callum needed to learn that language – assuming he made it out of here alive, of course. Assuming he got through to Emry, and the elf didn't kill him. Emry would be killed immediately after, he knew. There was no way the others would stand for it. The only reason Emry was still standing right now was because of how close he was to Callum, and he seemed to have a twitchy finger. He could release the arrow at any moment.

He wondered if it would be quick, or if he'd linger.

_Stop that. He won't do it._

He had to believe Emry would see reason.

"But if there's even a _flicker_ of doubt," he continued, watching the doubt beginning to cloud Emry's eyes, softening them more into the hue he remembered, "then please… _it's me_ , Emry."

Emry frowned, lips a thin line.

For a moment, time froze – it was just the two of them, staring each other down. It could honestly go either way.

And then finally, Emry hesitated and looked away.

Callum stepped closer, despite the complaints from behind him, watching the way Emry's aim wavered. "It's me, Em," he said, reaching for his friend's shoulder once he was close enough. Emry stiffened, gaze snapping back toward him, but at this range he couldn't shift enough to actually hit Callum with the arrow. "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you I was back – it just seemed… _wrong_ , disrupting your life again. If it makes you feel any better, everyone thought I was dead except Dorian."

"It's true," Dorian added helpfully.

"I wandered for a year," Callum continued, smirking at Emry. "You know me – get antsy in one place after too long. But I took it to the next level. Never kept a name, never stayed anywhere very long… until the Conclave." The mirth died away. He tightened his grip on the elf's shoulder. "I was there. Just – thought it might be worth witnessing, you know? The peace talks. The potential end of the war. And now I don't remember what happened that day, not really, but I have this."

He lifted his hand, showing his palm a little better as it flickered.

"I interrupted something that day, apparently. The Elder One, Corypheus – he's the one responsible for all of this, and we're trying to stop him." He took in a slow breath. "Join me?"

Emry stared at him for a long moment, before his gaze flickered over his shoulder, toward Dorian. After a long moment of indecision, he sighed and lowered his bow. The sigh of relief behind him was loud. A second later Dorian was at his side, glaring at the elf even as Callum smiled at him, holding out his right hand.

It took longer than he would have liked, but finally, Emry raised a hand, slowly shaking his. "So it's… you?"

Callum smiled, all teeth but no bite. "It's me, princess."

Something in Emry's expression cracked, then. He took in a few shallow breaths followed by one deep one, which he then released slowly. His eyes connected with Callum's, all soft sunset like they used to be.

And then the elf's fist connected with his jaw.

Callum groaned as he caught himself, rubbing at his jaw. "Ow," he muttered, throwing a glare at the elf even as he threw up a hand, stopping everyone else from intervening. "It's fine, guys. You still have a hell of a right hook for such a princess, Em."

Emry's lips twitched into the barest of smiles. "That's for not telling me you were alive. Asshole."

Callum smirked. "Welcome to the Inquisition, Emry."

xXx

Dorian was not sure what to think about Emry's sudden arrival. He found he was more perturbed at the fact the elf had been about to kill Callum, more than anything else, but the sudden reappearance was… odd. He hadn't thought about Emry in quite some time, and felt a flicker of guilt for that. He and Emry had never really been _friends_ , though, so he thought he could just shrug the guilt off for now. He never sought Emry out, but then Emry never looked for _him_ either, and the elf probably would have had a better time of locating him than vice versa.

He wasn't the only one to keep a sharp eye on Emry as they traveled, though; Anders and Varric weren't about to let what happened slide. Varric was a bit more cheery about it but Anders was very untrusting. Callum kept tossing them scowls whenever their remarks became too loud or rude, and they went silent. Or, rather, Anders went silent; Varric, instead, turned the conversation to memories of Kirkwall and how Emry reminded him of a certain brooding elf with white hair.

Dorian could see the resemblance, of course.

Anders' lack of trust in Emry was a bit off-putting, to be honest, though he currently felt the same about the elf. The last time Anders had seen Emry, they had been searching for Callum, after the healer had saved Dorian's life. It was understandable for him to not be so trusting after Emry threatened to kill Callum upon seeing him again – but a part of Dorian understood where Emry was coming from.

To Emry, he thought Callum would let him know he was alive, and he hadn't seen him since he disappeared through time – the first time. And now there were demons everywhere, and he knew a lot of people thought it blasphemous of Callum to be called the 'Herald of Andraste'. Perhaps this 'Caine' was one of them, and told Emry it was a demon or something. A demon wearing his friend's face. When one looked at it from that perspective…

"I'd offer silver for your thoughts but I don't give out money," Varric's voice interrupted his thoughts, and he glanced over at the dwarf walking next to him.

Dorian shrugged. "I've no use for money at the moment, so it's pointless anyway."

This was true; so far none of them had really had to 'pay' for anything. All they wanted or needed was paid for by the Inquisition, ever since they joined it. It wasn't like they'd gone on a spending spree or anything, though; really all they had were the necessities – shelter, food, clothing… weapons…

He had no need for money, nor was he willing to share his thoughts at the moment. It seemed rather unwise.

"Care to tell an old dwarf what's on your mind?"

"You are not that old," Dorian replied, rolling his eyes. "And there's little on my mind right now."

He kept Callum and Emry firmly in his gaze as they traveled, but that was really all that was on his mind at the moment, and it wasn't anything he felt like sharing with the story-driven dwarf.

"How do you three know this elf?"

Dorian took in a slow breath. "It was a long time ago. He's an old friend of Callum's."

"They didn't seem too friendly there for a minute."

"You're telling me," he muttered under his breath, before shrugging, raising his voice so the dwarf could hear. "They seem good now, at least."

This was true, for the moment. He wondered if it would last through their travels, and when they returned to Skyhold. They could always use new allies.

Emry could bring the whole 'assassin' connection.

"I don't trust him," Anders said from just behind them. Dorian sighed as the healer caught up with them, to walk on Varric's other side, the dwarf in the middle. "I was there when Callum first went missing, remember? He seemed worried enough but he gave up."

"Everyone did," Dorian reminded him, keeping the bitterness to himself. He'd been the only one to not give up. At the time it had been very difficult.

"Not you," Anders pointed out. "And you didn't know him as long as Emry. And now Emry shows back up, out of the blue, and threatens to kill him."

"It's been rough for everyone," Dorian said, wondering why he was sticking up for the elf when he knew Emry would never do the same for him. They never got along on the best of days, let alone times like this. But Emry was a big part of Callum's life and he wouldn't tolerate everyone being completely rude to him, so attempting to get the others to see Emry's viewpoint seemed like a good idea. In theory, anyway. Dorian wasn't certain he understood Emry's viewpoint himself, just yet.

"Are you three done whispering back there?" Callum called back to them, and Dorian returned his focus forward to find Emry and Callum standing just around a corner, barely visible but clearly waiting for them. This entire area had random cliffs and rock formations, leaving them veering under, between and around them.

As the trio caught up with the two of them, they could see why they stopped.

"She's sleeping," Emry said. "We could try to sneak around her."

Dorian stared at the sleeping red dragon from yesterday. The dragon which had flown by overhead. He took in a slow breath, staring at it across the way, sound asleep on the ground with little baby dragons sleeping around it. He knew there had to be more baby dragons nearby; he could hear them. They needed to be careful.

"Perhaps we should backtrack and find another way through here," Anders offered.

The high-pitched growling sounds became louder – the baby dragons. Behind them.

They turned as a unit, looking at the growing crowd of baby dragons behind them, circling them hungrily. If they started growling any louder it would wake the mother dragon and she certainly wouldn't be happy about it. Dorian's fingers tightened around his staff as he brought it around in front of him, ready for use. He had a feeling there would soon be a fight on their hands.

"Killing the dragonlings will definitely wake Mama Dragon," Callum muttered.

_Which we definitely don't need._

"But if we keep them alive, they'll wake her anyway," Emry pointed out, reaching for his bow. Thankfully he didn't aim it at Callum this time.

"Both very good points," Varric said helpfully.

"We can't just stand here," Anders pointed out.

Dorian sighed heavily. Definitely a fight on their hands.

"Think quickly," he said as the dragonlings closed in on them. "Choose something, preferably before we become dragon food."

"I could distract them," Callum suggested. "Stealth mode and all."

"As could I, Dicey," Varric said.

Dorian almost forgot the dwarf was a rogue as well, and could go invisible just as easily.

Emry hesitated. "I've never been very good at that."

"Three rogues," Anders muttered, "and you can't…"

Emry tossed a glare at the blond healer.

That, at least, was familiar.

"They can still smell you," Dorian pointed out, because _rogues_. Rogues could be so infuriating. Especially certain sandy-haired ones with glowing marks on their hands. "You don't actually disappear, after all."

"Sparkler has a point."

He looked skyward at the nickname.

_I do not sparkle._

"Fine, no luring away," Callum sighed. "I'm open for ideas, guys."

A baby dragon lunged forward, then, snapping at Dorian's leg. Perhaps 'baby' dragon was a little too tame; it was the size of a very large dog, with jaws open wide and very sharp fangs reminiscent of multiple daggers. All there to chew him up.

He jumped back away from the snapping jaws. The other dragonlings, encouraged by this first attempt, lunged forward as well.

Dorian threw a barrier over the group even as an arrow lodged in the nearest dragonling's throat, curtesy of Emry.

Yes, there was definitely going to be a fight on their hands.

The baby dragon released a loud, high-pitched howl in pain.

"Do you think she heard that?" Anders asked.

The hair on the back of Dorian's neck stood up and he spun to find the large red dragon approaching them, anger burning in its big, steely eyes.

"She definitely heard it," he said shakily.

"Scatter!" Callum snapped, throwing some knock-out gas at the nearest baby dragon, clearing a small path.


	39. There Be Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fighting a dragon isn't all it's cropped up to be - and Callum's not sure what to think of his new 'ability'.

Chapter Thirty-Eight: There Be Dragons

 

Callum had never fought a dragon before. This was not a bad thing, and wasn’t something he was looking forward to changing. He preferred not to fight the beast, but he was kind of between a rock and a hard place right now. As they fled the general clearing, searching for rock formations to hid behind whilst also fending off the dragonlings, the dragon flung herself into the sky and roared from overhead, shooting fire down at them from above. She would not let them go easily. Fleeing wasn’t an option.

They would have to fight her. There was no way around it.

Dimly he was aware of the fact The Iron Bull was going to be very cross with him, for fighting a dragon without him. Bull loved dragon fighting. Cassandra’s family was also known for dragon fighting. The two people he _should_ bring to a dragon fight were nowhere to be seen. He glanced at his team, chewing on his bottom lip briefly.

He might not have fought a dragon before, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know what to do. He’d watched them, watched people fight them occasionally. He knew how they moved, how they fought. It was his job as a rogue, to watch without being seen, hidden away from prying eyes, downwind so the dragon didn’t know he was there, either.

He knew the wings needed to be watched at all times; they gave hints as to what the dragon was going to do next – if it was going to fly through the air, flap the wings and create a sort of vortex which drew someone toward the dragon with enough force to break an ankle if one wasn’t careful, or if the dragon was simply going to raise a claw to strike against its attacker.

The adrenaline pumped through his veins as he watched the way the dragon moved. Perhaps this was why Bull seemed so eager to face one – it was a rush like no other, but also incredibly dangerous. He kept an eye on Dorian, standing apart from the others. A barrier fell over Callum and it was then he realized.

_I’m the only close-quarters combat person here…_

Varric and Emry used a crossbow and arrows, respectively; Anders and Dorian were mages and thus needed to keep distance as well. That left Callum as the only up close and personal person in their little group. In his defense, he hadn’t been expecting to fight a _dragon_.

 _Well,_ he thought to himself, twisting a dagger in his grasp, _best make the most of this, then._

As the close quarters combatant, it was his job to keep the dragon preoccupied and away from the long-range attackers. His gaze slid skyward momentarily, hoping things went well or else Dorian would never forgive him, and then he cloaked, disappearing from view. The dragon snarled and began moving toward the others as spells slammed into it, along with a few arrows. It shook everything off and kept moving forward.

Callum maneuvered through the rocks until he was beneath the dragon. He uncloaked as his daggers found a home toward the bottom of the dragon’s left hind leg. It howled and he jumped back just in time to avoid being stomped to death. Another barrier fell over him just as the tail came into contact with him.

_Right, forgot about that…_

The tail barely snapped him, though, and the barrier helped. He was still nearly knocked off his feet, staggering until he managed to maintain his footing, but other than a sore muscle or two, he was fine.

He cloaked just in time to avoid another lash of the tail as the dragon turned toward him. Spells smacked into the beast’s side as it did so. It rounded in the mages’ direction with a snarl. Dragonlings appeared from around the rock formations, easily surrounding the rest of his team. Callum took in a breath and threw some sleep powder on the nearest dragonling as he made his way to Dorian’s side, as the Necromancer stood in the middle of the chaos.

The dragon, meanwhile, lumbered toward them, eyes narrowed into angry slits as it watched a few dragonlings be cut down. Its mouth opened and fire spewed from inside. Adrenaline kicked in, as well as panic as he realized where that stream of fire was heading, and before he knew what he was doing, he’d already slammed into Dorian and tackled the mage to the ground. The air where he previously stood caught fire.

Dorian looked pale as Callum de-cloaked and rolled off him. He held out his hand to help the mage up, Dorian easily accepting the help.

“You guys okay?” Anders called, spells smacking into the dragon, a barrier falling over Dorian and Callum.

“Yeah,” Callum called back, looking Dorian over himself. Despite being pale, he seemed fine. It was probably just shock from fighting his first dragon. Callum probably would have been pale himself, if it weren’t for all the adrenaline pumping through his veins, reddening his cheeks. Dorian eyed him warily, and Callum smirked, clapping a hand to the mage’s shoulder very briefly, before he moved away and cloaked, going invisible.

If they all stood in one place they were definitely going to lose this battle.

The dragon snarled at them, stomping toward them. Callum dodged the tail as he circled around the beast, watching Dorian out of the corner of his eye. A dragonling tried sneaking up on the mage, but he turned toward it before Callum could call out, and easily dispatched it with an ice spell. Callum’s attention turned fully toward the dragon as he clutched at his daggers, eying for the weak spot.

Blood poured from several gashes he’d already ripped into the hind left leg. He took in a slow breath and then lunged as he de-cloaked, his daggers sinking into the ripped flesh. The dragon roared and Callum spun away from the flick of the tail, only to find himself standing in front of several dragonlings. At least they were defending their mother; he had to give them that.

A barrier fell over him, startling him momentarily. A dragonling lunged at the same moment, tackling him to the ground. The barrier took most of the damage but he did hit the ground, using his momentum to spring back up after rolling, daggers at the ready. He gutted the dragonling and flung it off of him, wincing momentarily as it cried out pathetically.

_I don’t like this._

He was killing baby dragons; they were trying to defend their mother. And the adult dragon was only protecting her babies. There was no way out of this without fighting and killing things, but he felt terrible about this. It was why he didn’t hunt, unlike Emry. Emry always used to enjoy hunting. When they camped out in places, Emry would hunt for food and Callum would happily eat it, but he didn’t wish to be part of the killing process. Odd, for a mercenary. But he stood by the fact he didn’t kill innocents, and that included animals.

Then again, this was self-defense.

Still…

 _I’m sorry,_ he thought as he killed another dragonling, spinning in place to run his blade through the throat of another dragonling. He tried to mute his sense of hearing so he couldn’t hear their pitiful death cries.

The dragon was getting too close to the others.

They weren’t close-combat fighters.

Callum’s mind blanked briefly, as fire shot at his friends. In that moment all he could see was his house burning to the ground. And then, after that, his cabin burning at Haven. Haven, aflame.

His teeth ground against each other as he snarled under his breath, cloaking as he slashed at the nearest dragonling. Thankfully the babies were dying down – however much he regretted killing them.

He made his way toward the dragon’s hind leg, which he’d been carefully chipping away at for a while now.

_You stay away from my friends!_

He wasn’t losing anyone else to fire.

His daggers struck bone. The dragon howled and stumbled, laying on its side now, wings flapping, a wind suction to those not right next to it. Safe from the suction – and praying the others would remain okay and were far enough away, too – he struggled to tear his daggers free of the flesh and bone, but one of them was stuck in the bone. As he twisted it, attempting to free the blade, the dragon cried out further as blood spurted freely from the wound, having severed some sort of artery. The arterial spray splattered across Callum’s face, momentarily blinding him. He released the blade stuck in the dragon’s leg to wipe the blood from his eyes and mouth, each breath filled with a strong metallic scent.

The dragon rolled, leaving him barely able to jump out of the way instead of being crushed to death. As it rolled, the ground hit the hilt of the dagger still trapped in its leg, sending the blade deeper into flesh and bone. Callum clutched his remaining dagger tightly, feeling strangely _naked_ without both of the blades.

Spells hit the thick hide of the dragon. Callum looked around quickly, noticing that there were very few dragonlings circling them at the moment. An ice spell froze a dragonling an inch from his face as he spun further to find one lunging at him. He swallowed, staring at the frozen mouth, and quickly moved away.

By the time he moved away from the remaining dragonlings and cloaked again, the dragon had gotten back to its feet, though it held its left hind leg up. All Callum could see of his dagger was the very edge of the round part of the hilt; it was all the way in the leg. There would be no getting it out until the dragon was dead.

He wasn’t aware of how low his stamina was until he realized he was panting heavily; his body ached, muscles sore, and he knew it had to be worse for the mages. They had to be incredibly low on mana, and it returned very slowly. A quick look at his friends assured him Dorian was leaning heavily against his staff as he flung another spell at the dragon, fatigue written across his face.

_This needs to end._

Sudden, hot, staggering.

_What the…?_

He cried out as teeth sank into his calf, leaving him stumbling, tripping over himself. As he hit the ground, his left palm attempting to hold him up as he looked down the length of his body, he found a dragonling with its teeth buried deeply into his leg, blood spurting from the wound. For a moment he simply stared at it, at the blood, stunned by the sudden pain.

When he hit the ground, his grip on his dagger slipped and the dragger fell away from his grasp. Now he gritted his teeth and looked around, finding it a few feet away. He stretched out as much as he could, kicking at the dragonling with his free leg, but it did little to dislodge the teeth. If anything it only made the mouth close tighter around his leg.

His fingers stretched across dirt, clawing at the particles until the tips of his fingers made contact with the hilt of his dagger. It wasn’t quite enough, though.

_C’mon, c’mon!_

The dragonling released him with a whine as a spell slammed into it. Callum didn’t even bother to look to see what kind of spell, or if the dragonling was dead; instead he lunged for the dagger and managed to sit up, holding his dagger out for whatever came next. The dragonling shook off whatever spell hit it and settled its gaze back on him, snarling at him.

“Bring it on,” he snapped. “C’mon, come get me!”

The dragonling lunged.

There was a whine, and blood, and then it toppled over, dead. Callum pulled his dagger from its throat from where it impaled itself.

By this point his breaths were shaky, and his vision was blurry. He eyed his dagger, noticing his loosening grip.

_Not good… Sorry, Dori…_

He said he’d be more careful.

His gaze went across the battlefield. The dragon was standing entirely too close to his friends. Its mouth opened. Fire shot from between the teeth, burning the ground around his friends. Dorian’s gaze locked on Callum’s.

Something. Something in his gaze.

_He thinks he’s gonna die…_

Callum’s mind blanked.

His hand throbbed, and he wasn’t sure what he was doing. All he knew was he was too far away to do anything, and his leg was injured. He couldn’t stand, couldn’t walk, and he definitely couldn’t do it fast enough to save his friends, save Dorian.

_Dorian’s gonna die..._

_No. No!_

He held up his left palm, unaware of what he was doing, acting purely on instinct.

There was pain – hot, sharp, igniting through his palm.

A flash of grin light exploding near the dragon.

And then darkness as it all fell silent around him.

xXx

“Maker’s Breath,” Varric whispered, shattering the silence which fell as the dragon toppled over with a final whine. For a long time, nothing was said, until the dwarf released a sigh of disbelief. The fire died away after a brief spell, and Dorian’s eyes adjusted to the lack of such brightness.

He blinked, frowning.

_What happened…?_

One minute the dragon was about to kill them; the next, there was a flash of green light, almost like a rift, except it died away when the dragon died, killing the fire with it. He swallowed, feeling utterly drained, before his gaze moved across the battlefield and noticed the fallen dragonlings as well. Whatever killed the dragon also killed them, it seemed.

And then his gaze fell across the still form of his friend. His _lover_.

“ _Amatus_ ,” he whispered, unaware he was speaking as his feet carried him quickly toward the fallen figure. The blood was easily noticed; he remembered the cry which escaped Callum’s lips as sharp teeth sank into the vulnerable flesh of his leg. Callum’s hand crackled somewhat, glowing green faintly.

_That mark has something to do with the dragon’s death._

The mark did something, that much was certain. But they could worry about that later, after Callum was okay.

“Anders,” he called.

Anders was right behind him, though.

“My mana is weak,” the healer warned. “I can’t do very much for him.”

“Do what you can,” Dorian said tersely.

“Dicey likes to make a habit out of getting hurt,” Varric said from behind them.

Dorian’s eyes fell closed as he sighed heavily, Anders crouching next to Callum.

Callum was hurt yet again. It wasn’t his fault, really, but some part of Dorian couldn’t help but think that it was. Or maybe it was _his_ fault; he should have been more attentive of the rogue, should have thrown another barrier over him or something. _Something_. He was still new to this whole ‘lover’ thing, but he was fairly certain one wasn’t supposed to let their lover almost die this often.

He couldn’t even really blame Callum, either; it was a large fight, and it truly could have happened to any of them. But it happened to Callum.

“Well?” he asked, forcing his eyes open to look down at the healer after a few moments of tense silence. “How is he?”

“He’ll live,” Anders replied, shaking his head. “I’d be amazed, if Hawke hadn’t preceded him. Two of kind, they are.”

The knot in Dorian’s stomach shifted, leaving him feeling queasy. He’d heard more than enough stories about how many times Hawke conquered death, and lived through scenarios in which he should have died.

“I haven’t managed to heal the wound yet, but I’ve slowed the bleeding for now,” Anders continued, snapping Dorian from his thoughts. “Once I’ve gotten my mana back, I’ll heal him properly. As it is, the wound just missed the artery.”

At this rate, Dorian’s lip was going to be bloody from biting it so much. “I see,” he said somewhat numbly.

An elbow hit his side. “Don’t worry, Sparkler; Dicey will be fine.”

“Who is Dicey?”

Dorian’s spine snapped rigid. In all the chaos, he’d forgotten Emry even existed. Now he glanced briefly at the elf, finding sunset eyes focused solely on Callum. Dorian cleared his throat, waiting until Emry’s gaze shifted from the fallen rogue to instead focus on him. “Varric has decided it is his job to grant everyone with nicknames,” he explained. “Dicey is Callum’s.”

“And you’re… what? Sparkler?”

Dorian’s lips twisted into a scowl. “It would appear so.”

Emry frowned. “Why the nicknames?”

“I like giving people nicknames,” Varric said simply. “Ain’t that right, Blondie?”

“I do wish you would cease calling me that,” Anders sighed, still hovering over Callum. It was best if Dorian didn’t look directly at the rogue, and see the blood again. “My hair isn’t even blond.”

“It’s not?” Emry asked. “Looks blond to me.”

“It’s _not_.”

“Then what would you call it?”

“It’s red,” Anders replied.

“I have to agree with Emry,” Dorian said. “It’s blond.”

Varric chuckled. “You’re outnumbered, Blondie.”

“ _Fine_ , whatever,” Anders sighed, shaking his head. “Not like it would change your mind, anyway, right, Varric?”

“Right,” the dwarf confirmed. “How’s Dicey? And what was that green light show?”

“Did he… Did he kill the dragon with his hand?” Emry asked.

It was a question they were all thinking, Dorian knew.

“I’m not sure,” Anders said. “I don’t know much about that mark of his. We’ll ask him when he wakes up.”

The absolutely certainty that Callum would awaken was reassuring.

Dorian released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“We should move and make camp somewhere safe,” he said, before pausing. “Is it… safe, to move him?”

“He’s stable,” Anders told him. “And you’re right, we can’t stay here.”

Dorian shifted toward Callum, reaching under the rogue’s arms as Anders grabbed his legs, and together they lifted him. He was lighter than expected, but then, he always seemed to be. Maybe it was just because Dorian hated carrying him. He shouldn’t _have_ to carry him. This was all wrong.

He sighed heavily, forcing his gaze away from Callum’s slack, pale face.

“Let’s lead the way,” Varric said to Emry, who hesitated only briefly, gaze still focused on Callum, before he nodded and looked away.

Together, he and Varric turned to lead the way out of the circle of dragonling bodies.

_We killed a dragon._

Dorian’s mind chose only then to grant him with this information. They killed a dragon. He wasn’t sure how to feel about this. It was a big thing in the South, wasn’t it? Dragon killing and all that. Cassandra’s family was known for it, apparently. The Iron Bull thought it was fun. _Fun_.

Dorian’s gaze wandered toward Callum’s face.

There was nothing fun about this.

xXx

Consciousness returned as it often did – by suddenly flinging him into awareness. His last thoughts were of battle. He came awake with a gasp, instantly trying to sit up despite the throbbing pain in his leg and left hand. As his eyes snapped open he looked at the hands settled on his chest, keeping him pinned. After several long blinks, his gaze finally focused on Dorian’s worried face – not that the mage would admit to being worried.

For a long moment, all Callum did was stare up at the mage.

Finally he managed to swallow and find his voice.

“H-Hey,” he said breathily, wincing at the effort it took to actually speak. “How… How pissed are you?”

“It does not even fit on the scale,” came the cool response.

He swallowed again. “Um… Sorry?”

Dorian sighed, dragging a hand across his face as he sat back on his heels, still somewhat hunched over but not nearly as much. It was then Callum noticed he was lying on the ground, on soft covers, encased in warmth despite the aches and pains.

“I’m not angry,” Dorian told him softly.

Callum frowned, watching the mage. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not mad,” Dorian sighed, shaking his head. “It would be foolish to blame you. It could have happened to anyone, and as the only close-combat fighter we had… You did well. Or so the others tell me.”

The irritation was plain in Dorian’s voice, despite how he stated he wasn’t angry.

“You’re mad, but not at me?” Callum asked hopefully.

“Something like that,” Dorian agreed with a small nod. “I’m angry with the situation, but not you.”

“But you’re still upset with me.”

Dorian nodded slowly, looking away. “Something like that,” he said again.

Callum sighed heavily. “I didn’t _mean_ to get hurt.”

“I know.”

“I did get careless, I guess; I was tired, and… I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t.”

“I am not blaming you.”

Callum nodded, watching the mage. “So what happened? The last thing I remember is…” he trailed off there, as he actually couldn’t remember what the last thing he remembered was. It was all very blurry. Pain in his leg, watching the dragon lumber toward the others… “Are you guys okay?”

“Yes, _Amatus_ , we are all fine, even your elven friend.”

Callum relaxed. “Oh, good. Just me, then.”

“Yes, you seem to make a habit of this.”

“I’m sorry.”

Dorian shook his head. “Again, it wasn’t your fault. As for what happened… well, that is difficult to explain.”

“Difficult how?”

The mage hesitated. “There was… We think it was your mark.”

“My hand? What?”

“There was this green light, much like the rifts, except it came from your hand. You… created your own rift, it seems.”

“I… _what_?”

“We’re not entirely sure what happened, but it’s like… there was this rift suddenly created near the dragon, and as it broke apart and faded away, the dragon died.”

Callum blinked a few times, attempting to comprehend what Dorian was saying. “So you’re saying I… killed the dragon with my _hand_?”

Dorian nodded once. “Yes, something like that.” He inhaled slowly. “Anders says it’s a type of magic; it uses focus.”

“Focus,” Callum repeated quietly, staring at the mage. “Magic. You think I have _magic_?”

“The mark itself is magic, is it not?”

“Yes, but…”

“And you have used it to your advantage. The question is, can you do it again?”

Callum frowned, biting down on his bottom lip as he looked at his left hand. After clenching it into a fist a few times, he sighed. “Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t even know how I did it the first time; it’s all… pretty blurry.”

Dorian nodded. “You were losing a lot of blood; I would imagine you were out of it. It is thankful we had a healer with us.”

“Yeah, Anders does good work. Where are the others, anyway?”

“They are keeping watch, and I believe Varric is telling a story.”

Callum scrambled to sit up but Dorian pushed him back down with a firm hand on his chest, tossing him a glare. “Dori! Varric’s telling stories and you’re keeping me locked in here?” he all but whined pathetically.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “You are not ready to get up, _Amatus_. I am sure Varric can re-tell the story later.”

Callum rolled his eyes. “But I wanna listen _now_.”

“So childish.”

“I’m the Herald; I’m allowed to be childish.”

Dorian shook his head, smiling faintly. “Get some more rest, and maybe I’ll let you up when you wake.”

Callum yawned, not realizing how tired he was until then. “ ‘kay,” he mumbled. “Sounds like a plan.”

Dorian nodded, and his face was the last image Callum saw before his heavy eyelids fell closed, and sleep stole consciousness away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you know how after Haven you can suddenly use the mark to your advantage? This was my attempt at fitting it in instead of just having someone say 'oh you can totally do this now', if that makes sense. Not sure how well it came out, but oh well xD Thoughts?


	40. Glowing Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callum has an interesting dream, and then a long-overdue talk with Emry, before rifts get in the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, sorry for the delay - like 2 months xD I was trying to finish Almost Forever (which I still have 2 chapters to bring here, heh) and also work on a joint story a friend of mine is writing with me, and also work. Lots and lots of work. I spend most of my free time sleeping, and I haven't played Dragon Age in months, probably not since before my last update, maybe longer. But anyway - thoughts?

Chapter Thirty-Nine: asdf

 

_“Closer, child. Come closer.”_

_The greenlit silhouette beckoned him closer with a flick of her glowing wrist. Her entire body was nothing but a glowing green outline, reminding him of the rifts, and his own hand. Speaking of which, he looked down at his hand and noticed the way it was sparking like it did when around rifts, but there was no pain. Instead – mere warmth blazed through hand, up into his wrist and arm. He swallowed and glanced back at the glowing figure. It seemed further away now._

_“Closer,” the figure said again, in that distinctly feminine tone._

_Callum’s thoughts wandered back to after he awoke after the Conclave; they said a woman was in the rift behind him. Some thought her to be Andraste. Was this her? Was this Andraste? The Holy Spirit? Beckoning **him** closer?_

_He’d never considered himself a very religious man, even though his family had been devout Adrastians. He believed in a higher being – he hoped there was something after they died, after all; he hoped he’d see his family again one day – but he’d never been that ‘devout’. And yet…_

_He stepped closer to the glowing outline._

_“Come see, child,” the woman said. “Come see the truth.”_

_“What truth?” he asked softly._

_An image flashed in his mind as clear as day – the Conclave, in its glory. Another flash and it was the Conclave, covered in ashes. Destroyed. A rift, opening. Him falling through, the image of the glowing woman behind him before it shut._

_He gasped at the image playing in his mind._

_“The truth about what happened?” he whispered softly. “About the Conclave? Why I’m alive? How I got **this**?” He held up his glowing hand._

_The woman did not reply. Instead he got the impression she was looking into his very soul. It was unnerving, like she could see through him. He felt naked standing there, all his dark little secrets revealed. She said not a word, though, instead merely beckoning him closer again. He stepped closer once more._

_Pain lanced through his hand, a shout echoing through his head. His, he realized belatedly._

**_“What’s going on here?”_ **

_That had been his voice. Those had been his words, brought to him in that echo when he went to close the Breach after awakening with this new mark on his hand. An echo of what happened at the Conclave, according to Solas._

_Little images, pictures lost in his mind, nudged against his thoughts, seeking attention. But he had no idea how to give them the attention they desired; he had no idea how to bring them into the light of day, the memories of what happened. There, but not there; his memories, but **stolen**. Gone. Just echoes left now._

_“I don’t understand,” he whispered, wincing as more pain shot through his head. “What am I missing? How do I remember?”_

_The glowing lady just stayed silent. Instead another image slipped through his mind, as though granted to him from Andraste herself. From the glowing figure’s mind into his own, this image played before his eyes – an image of Grey Wardens._

_“I have to… find the Grey Wardens?” he asked softly._

_He’d already been planning on seeking out the elusive, missing Wardens, but now, the mission jumped to the forefront of his mind. If this was how he would regain his memories, then he would make finding the Wardens a top priority. As soon as he returned to Skyhold, he would ask of Hawke’s mission into the Western Approach, and together they could come up with some kind of plan to locate the Wardens._

_He took in a slow breath. The longer he stayed here, pondering over what was slipped into his mind, the more his head throbbed painfully. His hand echoed the pain, the mark flaring briefly._

_A voice called out to him through the pain._

**_“Amatus,”_ ** _the voice called as though through a thick fog, **“wake up.”**_

_He blinked, and the glowing woman before him disappeared as though she had never been there. Had she truly been there? Had he imagined the whole thing? No, he told himself. Certainly not. It had been real. Right?_

**_“Amatus.”_ **

xXx

Callum woke with a gasp, instantly attempting to sit up. He nearly collided with Dorian as the mage hovered over him worriedly, though Dorian was quick to school his features. Callum took in a deep breath, attempting to calm his racing heart as he looked at the mage.

“I’m okay,” he said before Dorian could say anything. “Just a… weird dream, that’s all.”

Dorian pursed his lips into a thin white line. “You were quite restless, and covered in a cold sweat. It took a while to wake you.”

Before Callum could react, the back of Dorian’s hand was on his forehead, leaving him scowling as he batted the hand away. “I’m fine,” he said.

“You have a fever.”

“I’m fine,” he said once more. “Honest – it’s just a little hot in here.”

“The South is many things,” Dorian said with a raised brow, “but it is not ‘hot’.”

Callum rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. What did I miss? How long have I been asleep?”

“About ten hours,” Dorian replied. “You did not miss much.”

“Ten hours…?” Callum hated sleeping so long, especially when they had work to do. He’d been down long enough as it was. He did a mental check of his body; his leg was sore, but had been properly healed while he slept, it seemed. He could move it, it was just sore from misuse. A little tender, but otherwise okay.

“What do you think you are doing?”

“Getting up,” Callum said. “I’ve been down too long. Where is everyone?”

“They were all well and good,” Dorian said. “So sit back down.”

Callum staggered on his previously wounded leg but managed to keep standing despite the look Dorian was currently giving him. He flashed the mage a quick smile to show he was perfectly fine. “I’m good, Dori. Besides, we need to keep moving. We have a job to do, after all.”

“I’m sure it can wait another day,” Dorian replied smoothly. “You look as though the wind might knock you from your feet.”

“Gee, thanks so much for the vote of confidence.”

Dorian sighed. “I know you detest being idle, _Amatus_ , but you do have a fever, and we aren’t going anywhere without you. I’m sure the remaining rifts through here can wait another day.”

Callum scowled. “Why wait another day when I can do it now?”

Dorian’s expression twisted. “Do you not realize you killed a _dragon_ with your _mark_?”

Callum winced; truthfully, he’d attempted to forget that little detail. It was too creepy to think about. He didn’t have magic, and yet… he’d basically killed that dragon with a _thought_. And he wasn’t sure how he did it, or if he could do it again, or anything.

“Afterward, you passed out completely,” Dorian continued.

“Blood loss,” Callum muttered.

“As if that helps your situation!”

He sighed. “Look, Dori, I’m sorry for worrying you, but really, I’m _fine_. All my limbs intact, and I’m all healed; I’m okay, you’re okay, everyone’s okay.”

Dorian’s shoulders slouched somewhat. Callum stifled a wince; he hated worrying the mage. It wasn’t like he _tried_ to get hurt. It wasn’t like he went looking for trouble, it just seemed to always find him, no matter what. He hated seeing Dorian like this, though, and to know it was because of _him_ …

Seeing Dorian worried was almost enough to make him change his mind and agree to stay put for another day, but they’d already stayed in one place too long; there could be more dragons nearby, and more dragonlings. It wasn’t safe, and he needed to meet up with Hawke and see what he learned about the Grey Wardens.

If he wanted answers, that was what had to happen.

Explaining this to Dorian seemed rather complicated, so he kept his mouth shut on the matter. Perhaps later, when they were back at Skyhold, or he actually had the answers he sought. Then he could mention the strange dream.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” he said softly, waiting until Dorian finally met his eyes again. “I’m sorry, okay? I don’t mean to get hurt… Trouble just likes to follow me, that’s all. But I’m okay. And we need to keep moving. Finish up here, and meet up with Hawke. What’s he going to think when we’re not at the meeting place on time?”

Dorian scowled at him. “I do so hate it when you use logic against me.”

Callum smiled thinly. “I can’t help it if I’m logical. So, what do you say?”

Dorian sighed heavily. “Very well, we can travel a bit today, but nothing too strenuous. We don’t need you passing out again.”

Callum smiled. “Thanks, Dori. Wait – are you saying I’m heavy?”

The mage smirked back at him. “I would never say that, _Amatus_. However, you’re not very light, either.”

Callum snickered and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Tell the others to get ready, would you? I’d like to leave within the hour.”

Dorian nodded, and stepped away from him finally. Callum sighed, noticing the slight hesitation. Acting on impulse his hand shot out and his fingers wrapped around the mage’s wrist. He yanked the mage back toward him, spinning him in one smooth motion, until their lips met in a brief, tender kiss. After they split apart, he smiled.

“Alright,” he said. “Now you can go tell them.”

Dorian smiled at him, and took his leave.

As the tent flap closed behind him, Callum sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. He was tired, he realized distantly. Not tired as in sleepy, either; it was this bone-deep ache thrumming through him. He was tired; tired of wondering and worrying, tired of closing rifts, tired of fighting like this, tired of this mark on his hand, tired of being the Herald…

Just tired.

It wouldn’t end until he got answers. Until he remembered exactly what happened at the Conclave. And the only way for him to remember was to find the Grey Wardens.

With a sigh, he began to pull on his armor and lacing his boots. After his daggers were placed in their sheaths on his back – though one dagger looked worse for wear, since it had been stuck in the dragon’s leg for a time – he took in a heavy breath, dragging his left hand up to inspect. In his right hand he held his gloves, ready to pull them on before leaving the tent.

He flexed his fingers briefly, watching the faint green mark on his palm shimmer with the movement. The pain was brief, a dull ache he was all too used to at this point. One could get used to pain, but it never really got any easier; pain was still pain.

_Pain is a state of mind._

He shook his head and pulled on his gloves.

Exiting the tent revealed daylight, and a chilly morning. Late morning, roughly noon, he surmised as he glanced up at the sky. It wasn’t cloudy, but it was cold; then again, this was the South, and it was typically always at least a little cold. Winter was rough, though; soon this place would be covered in snow. They needed to finish their business here before the snow set in.

In a few days they were going to be due to meet Hawke in Redcliffe. That gave them plenty of time to dispatch the rest of the rifts through the Hinterlands, if they kept a steady pace and had no further interruptions, like dragons.

_Please, no more dragons._

He flexed his left hand again, automatically.

He killed the dragon with his mark, somehow.

He created a rift of some kind, all on his own; and after it killed the dragon, it vanished, according to Dorian.

Maybe he could try again…

If it was an ability he could harness, it would come in handy, though he was rather wary of using it.

“You’re awake.”

He flinched and turned to find Emry watching him carefully. He offered the elf a wide smile. “Hey, Em,” he said cheerfully. “It’s still such a shock to have you here, you know? How are you?”

Emry blinked a few times. “I’m fine. It’s just… This is all a lot to take in. I will be okay. How are you? Dorian has been watching over you.”

Callum shrugged. “Well, he let me out of bed, didn’t he?”

Emry watched him for a moment, before nodding slowly. “Yes, I suppose he did. I take it that you are healed, then?”

“Yeah, Anders healed me,” Callum replied. “We’re, um… We’re going to finish closing the rifts through here and meet Hawke and the others in Redcliffe. Sound good to you?”

Emry shrugged. “If that’s the plan, then sure.”

Callum frowned. “Are you sure everything’s okay with you, Em?”

Sunset eyes narrowed. “It’s been a long time, Callum. Things have changed.”

“What do you mean?”

Emry shrugged once more, pushing away from the tree against which he’d been leaning. “You don’t know me anymore.”

Callum snapped his mouth shut. He wanted to argue, but what could he say? Emry was absolutely right.

He clenched his hands into fists at his sides.

“And I don’t know you anymore,” Emry continued, unaware of Callum’s mental turmoil. “I mean – I thought I’d always know you, but you didn’t even tell me you were alive.” The anger in Emry’s voice was prominent, and Callum shrunk in on himself, never enjoying being on the receiving end of the elf’s wrath. “You’ve been back for years, and I’m only now finding out. It’s a lot to take in. I thought we were friends. I thought you trusted me.”

“I do trust you,” Callum said weakly, but Emry’s eyes remained narrowed. He swallowed thickly around the harsh lump in his throat. “I just… when I returned, Dorian told me how you were doing. I didn’t… I mean… After I recovered, Dorian and I had some argument. It’s stupid now, looking back, but at the time… it made me question my place, you know?”

Emry frowned, but said nothing, allowing Callum to continue.

“It had been seven months since I vanished, apparently; everyone stopped looking, except Dorian.” He took in a slow breath. “Everyone _gave up on me_. Even… Even you.”

Emry winced, some of the chill finally leaving from his sunset eyes. There was a flash of the old Emry, the one he used to know so well, in the softness of his gaze. “I’m sorry, Callum… we searched for so long, and came up empty every time…”

Callum held up a hand, halting Emry’s words. “I’m not blaming you. It’s just… You had moved on, and to suddenly disrupt your life again… it felt wrong. So I stayed away. I checked in on you a few times, but you seemed to be doing okay without me. Why ruin your life again by suddenly showing up? So I… I disappeared again. Until the Conclave.”

Silence followed his statement, until the elf sighed. “What happened at the Conclave, Callum?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Callum replied truthfully. “It’s all this giant blur. I don’t remember anything except waking up in chains, being accused of… of killing so many people…”

Callum was an assassin, in a way, but he wasn’t a killer. He didn’t hurt innocent people. And to be accused of doing just that, to so many… It still made him sick to his stomach.

“That must have been hard for you,” Emry said softly.

Callum nodded briefly. “It was, but… Well. Here we are.” He took in a slow breath, watching his old friend. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was back; I just thought you’d be better off without me. I thought everyone would.”

“You were wrong,” Emry told him. “Things at the guild have… changed. It’s not… safe anymore.”

“What do you mean?” This was the first he was hearing about this.

“Things have changed. I don’t… It’s not something I can place, exactly, it’s just a feeling I have. And a lot of others, too. But if you question it, then… well, you disappear.”

Callum bit his lower lip thoughtfully. “Did they tell you I was a demon?”

Emry nodded. “I was told you were nothing but an imposter, a demon determined to destroy the world. I was told to kill you on sight.”

_Just as I feared…_

So perhaps Corypheus’ influence stretched further than Callum thought, and had consumed the guild as well. Now, all his attachments to the life of ‘Callum’, all those people who knew him as Callum… they wanted him dead. They thought him a demon. They’d been fed lies.

Emry hadn’t killed him, though.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” he couldn’t help but ask.

Emry was silent for a long moment.

“I don’t know,” the elf finally said with a small shrug. “I just – you looked so much like him. I didn’t think a demon could everything right.”

“Correct,” came a new voice, and Callum glanced over his shoulder to find Dorian approaching them, coming to stand just behind Callum’s left shoulder. “Demons try to get things right, but it takes a lot of energy to keep up a physical form, and it definitely takes a lot of energy to fully possess someone for a lengthy duration of time. Even if they could fake the voice and movements, the personality would be out of their range, I should think. There’s always something that gives them away.”

Callum smiled. “Thanks, Dori.”

Emry glanced between the two of them for a moment.

“I have informed the others we are to leave within the hour,” Dorian said, catching Callum’s attention again. “Anders wishes to look you over again before our departure.”

Callum nodded. “Sounds good.”

He turned to speak again to Emry, but the elf was no longer standing in front of him.

Callum stared at the spot where his old friend previously stood, and couldn’t help but feel a pang in his heart.

xXx

After getting the all-clear from Anders, the group finally departed and began making their way toward the areas marked on their map with little ‘x’s, indicating a rift. There were only a few left, thankfully; Callum wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.

After a few hours of traveling, the mark on his hand ignited, the green glow seeping through the finger holes of his gloves, pain shooting through his hand, up his wrist and into his arm. He fought the urge to grab said arm in an attempt to stave off the pain, instead gritting his teeth to keep from crying out. The mark usually glowed when a rift was nearby, but the sudden pain he could really do without.

Dorian’s warm, gloved hand landed on his right shoulder, and he tried to focus on that instead of his hand. He wondered why it was so very sore, but then considered that it might be because he killed a _dragon_ with the mark earlier; it was bound to be sensitive after that, right?

“What’s happening?” Emry asked uneasily.

“There’s a rift nearby,” Callum replied tersely, through clenched teeth as he flexed the fingers of his left hand, willing the pain to subside.

“How do you know?” the elf asked uncertainly.

Callum smiled thinly, though the rest of his group stood behind him and couldn’t see said smile. “I just know. Trust me.”

Emry fell silent. Everyone went silent. The two mages in their little group could move rather silently when they wanted; perhaps they could have been decent rogues in another life.

It was quiet; eerily quiet. No birds chirping, no crickets, no wildlife… Nothing. Even the wind seemed to be holding its breath. Callum’s hand throbbed again, sharply; he winced and kept pushing forward.

A few minutes later they came across a waterfall. It was strange; even the falling water seemed hushed, muted. As they stepped along the rocks at the top of the waterfall, Callum looked down and found the rift, finally. It was down by the lower point of the small river, just beyond the waterfall. Immediately, the rift crackled and popped, the green light expanding briefly as demons poured through the opening, instantly moving toward the group.

Callum glanced at Dorian, whose lips were pursed into a thin white line. Before the mage could utter a word, Callum disappeared from view, invisible to the naked eye. He made his way around the oncoming demons to attack them from behind. He wasn’t the only one who had this idea, he soon found as he nearly collided with an equally invisible Varric. The two came out of their stealth modes at roughly the same time, with Callum plunging his daggers into a demon’s back while Varric fired his crossbow, Bianca, from a safe distance.

The demons turned, disturbed that people were behind them. A few veered off while the others kept facing forward, toward Dorian, Emry and Anders.

Again Callum realized he was still the only close-quarters combatant in their little group. He was really beginning to regret that.

_If I get hurt again, Dorian will kill me._

He had to play it safe.

And also keep all the demons away from everyone else.

No problem, right?

He took in a slow breath, slashing at the demon coming at him. The demon sidestepped the attack and lashed out with its razor-sharp claws.

As many demons as he’d killed already, it never really dawned on him that their blood was discolored; a muted brown color, it seemed. He only took notice now because it splattered across his face as his daggers cut jagged tears into the thing’s flesh. He wiped the blood from his face and glimpsed the discoloration on his fingers. Then he went invisible again, and silently made his way closer to the rift.

Once he was just below it, he raised his hand, his mark flaring to life. The rift crackled and popped as a line of similarly green light spread from his hand to the center of the floating mass, flinging him into visibility. By the time the demons turned to face him, a small explosion shot from the rift, rendering all the demons temporarily paralyzed. Spells were flung at their foes, and arrows lodged themselves deep in the flesh of the demons. By the time the paralysis wore off, the demons were ready to die. A few more spells and arrows and they were dead, disappearing back into the rift. But the battle wasn’t over yet, Callum knew.

This was just round one. These battles always got tougher and tougher.

A barrier fell over him as the rift crackled once more, and demons once again emerged. Callum slipped away from sight and managed to stay behind the creatures. He lifted his hand to once again render them immobile, but as soon as he became visible again, an ice shot slammed into him. The barrier caught the worst of it, but he still felt a chill along his skin.

Shivering, he moved to get a better angle of the rift, trusting his team to keep the demons off his back. He had to trust them.

Another barrier fell over him as he raised his palm. A demon spun toward him but was quickly caught on fire by a spell. It rounded on its attacker, slithering away from Callum. The rift exploded yet again, rendering the demons paralyzed.

The paralysis wore off too quickly.

Only a few shots hit the demons before they began attacking again. Glancing at the rift ensured him it wasn't ready for another explosion, too unstable right now. One would think an unstable rift was a good thing, great for getting rid of demons, but it was actually the opposite.

He took in a slow breath as a demon rounded on him. He twirled his daggers in his grip, ready to move at a second’s notice. The demon lunged at him. He brought his daggers up, slashing at the open maw ready to snap at him. One of his daggers missed; the other did not. It slid home in the beast’s jaw, and the demon released a pained yowl before ripping away from him, tearing its flesh from the blade which only caused more damage. The lower half of its mouth cut in half, Callum stared at the muscles and tissue as the discolored blood gushed from the open wound.

He lunged forward as the demon was retreating; he would show them no mercy. Not now, not ever, not after all they did. All they did with Corypheus. Was Corypheus in league with the demons, or was this a side effect? He honestly didn’t know, but it didn’t really matter. He slashed his daggers at the creature again, and a moment later the demon was dead.

The rift was ready for the final blast, it seemed.

He inhaled slowly, turning invisible.

Once he was positioned just under the rift, he raised his hand. A moment later, the demons snarled and turned toward him, knowing what he was doing. He kept his focus; he had to trust his team.

Spells slammed into the demons while the power of his mark was charging up, seemingly battling with the rift itself, for dominance. The pain inching through his hand into his wrist and arm was a fire unlike any other, but he ignored it; the adrenaline helped wash some of the pain away, but he’d definitely feel it later.

_This ends. Now._

The following explosion was tiny for all the damage it did. The demons howled as the blast threatened to end them; instead, they froze. Paralyzed again. Callum swallowed and brought his daggers down on the nearest demon, as his teammates attacked the other demons.

A moment later, the battle was over.

What was left of the demons slipped back into the remnants of the rift before it exploded a final time, leaving behind nothing but a shimmering afterglow and golden ash on the ground where it once floated.

Callum sank to his knees, exhausted.

He looked around at his teammates as they approached him. “Is everyone okay?”

“I am well,” Dorian said. “Though I am tired. Perhaps that is enough rifts for today?”

Callum smiled thinly, glancing at the others. They each nodded that they were fine.

“What about yourself?” Anders asked.

Callum waved him off. “It’s nothing that can be healed.”

“What do you mean?” Emry asked. “Isn’t he a healer?”

Callum sighed. “It’s complicated.”

He cradled his left hand to his chest for a moment, willing the pain to die down. Now that the adrenaline from the battle was leaving him, he was exhausted and pained.

“Come,” he said, getting to his feet. “We should find a place to make camp before nightfall.”

The sun was already too low to allow them proper light.

As they walked away from the river, he couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder at where the rift previously stood.

In his mind’s eye all he could see was the glowing woman from his dreams.

_“Come to me, child.”_

_I’m coming. And I’m no child._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rift mentioned is the one at the river and waterfall, near where you get your horse. I always had a lot of trouble with it; maybe I just suck xD I'd have to dodge around it and come back when I was a higher level and it was always a pain. I don't remember what I sent Hawke to do - it's been too long, lol - but maybe he'll be in next chapter, who knows xD Hope the chapter sounds okay :) Comment? :D


	41. Discussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callum and Anders have a private discussion; Callum theorizes about the Grey Wardens; Emry and Callum try again at this friendship thing. Or, discussions are had by many.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, I'm so terribly sorry for the extra long delay! Over a year, I know! I'm so sorry. Work got in the way, and my failing social life, and headaches, and gah. Everything. I haven't even played the game in over a year. I'm sorry.
> 
> I'm on a new medication and I'm loopy all the time and I haven't even been writing much of anything lately.
> 
> But I finally reread this story in its entirety which took me a while (which usually doesn't take me too long because I usually can read stuff in one-sitting but nope, new meds won't let me) and played some of Origins (which, if you don't know, when I first started this story I hadn't played Origins at all really except maybe like 2 hours of it which is NOTHING, and I'd only played like 8 hours of DA2, and I'd completed one playthrough of Inquisition, so xD)... and now I'm like 20 hours into Origins, still only 8 hours into DA2 (haven't played it since that one time I played it over a year ago lol) and I started a new character on Inquisition today that's a mage, so maybe we'll see him in a story, who knows xD I never play mages... EVER... I suck at mages because I just wanna be up close in a fight... you should see me in other games when I have to play a faraway character but I want to be up close... like in borderlands I'm a healing siren and I'm just in the fray with shotguns and shit and my boyfriend is like "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I AM THE TANK HERE NOT YOU, just heal me" lol ANYWAY off topic because my meds are fucking with my mind sorry I can't think straight at all anymore ever. Too scatterbrained for ANYTHING. UGH it sucks so much. But so that's my mindset anymore these days all the time. If you don't want to read my stuff anymore, I understand; it makes it really super hard to write, but it's either this or migraines constantly, and I can't. I can't anymore. I'm sorry. I can't with the pain.
> 
> ANYWAY.
> 
> So yeah. That's my mind. Scatterbrained as fuck. If you don't wanna read my stuff anymore because the writing has changed because of my meds and stuff and because I haven't played the games in a while and I've lost touch with the characters (though I am playing through them again so hopefully I'll reconnect with them) then sorry I've lost you. And if you aren't reading anymore because it wasn't updated for so long, sorry I've lost you, I understand.
> 
> But if I've kept you this long and you're still here, thanks so much. Happy to see you here.

 

Chapter Forty: Discussions

 

“I need to talk to you,” Anders said a few nights later, on their way back to Skyhold, after closing what remained of the rifts in the Hinterlands. The Hinterlands was the safest they’d been in a long time, Callum was happy to see. They’d once been lush and green and safe, filled with farmers and merchants and travelers; they would be again. Now they lay in ruins, but the people would rebuild once this was over, he knew; the wildlife would return, and the plants would regrow. The war would not permanently destroy this place.

“Alright,” he said uncertainly, frowning as Anders led him away from their little campsite and the others. Dorian watched them leave with a frown of his own, though he didn’t move to follow, thankfully. The necromancer could be rather protective, which Callum did love about him, but lately it left him feeling rather like a child. He did not need to be watched constantly; he would not be harmed the instant Dorian looked away, no matter how often he got hurt. It wasn’t like he went looking for danger; danger just liked to find him, that was all. “What’s on your mind, Anders?” he asked once they far enough away from prying eyes, as it seemed the healer wanted a private conversation.

Anders was a private man, which was understandable given what he’d been through, and the fact he was the start of the war. He’d been desperately trying to make up for this fact by helping people whenever he could, and putting up with others’ harsh words toward him, especially Fenris’. Even so, Anders rarely, if ever, pulled him aside for a private conversation, so the fact he did so now left Callum concerned.

Anders hesitated, gaze flickering away briefly. “You are aware I’m a Grey Warden, right?”

Callum blinked. “I had almost forgotten, actually. You don’t really act like one, or associate with them.”

“I try to forget about that part of my life,” Anders agreed shamefully. “I… abandoned them, and I regret it, but I’m not really one of them. I haven’t considered myself a Grey Warden in a while, not with… Justice and everything.”

Callum nodded. “So do you know what’s going on with the Wardens or anything?”

“No, I don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “As I said, I haven’t really associated with them in a while. But even so… It’s like all the Grey Wardens have gone silent all at once, which isn’t like them. Anyway – I just… I wanted to let you know that I might… have to leave you soon.”

“You… what?” Callum asked, mind spinning at the sudden information. Why would Anders suddenly spring this on him? “Why would you have to leave?”

Anders hesitated again. “It’s something I’m not supposed to talk about… but I thought I should warn you, at any rate.”

“Tell me,” Callum demanded.

“It really isn’t important.”

“Tell me,” he said again.

“It doesn’t-”

“Anders, if you try to say it doesn’t matter, I might stab you,” Callum snapped, glaring t him, feeling anger burn through him. “If it’s bothering you, it does matter. I like to think we’re friends after all we’ve been through these past few years, and you’re a damn good healer, and if you say you’re going to just be _leaving_ , I need to know why. So just _tell me_ , okay? Maker! It’s really not that hard. I don’t care if you’re not supposed to, you’ve gotten this far, so don’t quit on me now. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Anders remained silent for a long moment, gaze carefully focused on the ground, and Callum grit his teeth together painfully. There was no way he was letting Anders walk away from this conversation.

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” he asked, tone clipped.

“I… would like to think so,” Anders said hesitantly.

“Then tell me,” Callum said. “I need to know what’s bothering you.”

Anders sighed heavily. “As a Grey Warden… Grey Wardens suffer from a Calling, eventually. It is the end of their… time, I supposed. And I fear mine is coming.”

“Your… Calling?” Callum wracked his brain, attempting to drudge up all he knew of the Calling. Since he wasn’t a Grey Warden, he wasn’t technically supposed to know anything about it, but he was also a mercenary assassin and knew a great deal about a great many things he shouldn’t know; he knew more about the Calling than he needed. At hearing Anders mentioned it, a dark pit formed in his stomach. “You’re dying, then. You need to find the Deep Roads.”

Anders blinked at him, surprised. “You… know about it?” Then he laughed, weakly. “What am I saying? You _are_ Callum.”

Callum smirked thinly, humor the furthest thing from his mind. “Are you certain it’s your time?”

Anders sighed heavily. “I hear… a song,” he said. “Not unlike an archdemon, I suppose. It’s… quiet, for the moment, but it’s chaotic, usually. I have nightmares, and I’m beginning to… question what I see. I’m beginning to think myself a danger to myself and others.”

“That’s why you pulled me aside.”

The blond nodded.

“Isn’t it… early, for your Calling?” Callum asked. “Aren’t you a bit young?”

“I thought so, too, which is why I questioned it for so long, but…” The healer shrugged. “What else could it be?”

“Perhaps the archdemon?”

“Maybe… I suppose each archdemon could be different.”

Callum chewed on his lip. “You said you questioned it for a while. How long has this been happening? How long have you been hearing the song?”

Anders hesitated. “Since just after the Breach,” he answered.

Callum scowled. “Corypheus,” he muttered, the dots connecting in his mind. He flexed his left hand, the mark crackling to life briefly before the green light died away, Anders’ gaze momentarily snapping toward it. “I don’t think it’s your Calling, Anders. I think it’s just Corypheus. Maybe it’s part of his plan, or a side effect, or something. I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s actually you’re Calling.”

Anders’ eyes widened. “You don’t?”

“No, I don’t. It’s too convenient, and I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“You’re too young, for starters,” Callum said. “The Calling usually happens when you’re a bit older. You’ve still got a few good years left in you, from what I’ve learned, anyway, but I’m by no means an expert. And you said it happened just after the Breach, which is when Corypheus’ plan started or failed or whatever happened, and that’s just too convenient. All the Grey Wardens are missing; does he want them out of the way, or is just an unforeseen side effect of what he did, since he has an archdemon?” He shook his head. “Too convenient. I don’t think you’re actually having you’re calling, Anders; I think something is just making you _think_ you are, but you’re not.”

Anders remained silent for a long moment, before his shoulders drooped slightly. “Thank you, for saying that. I didn’t realize how much I wanted to hear that until just now.” The relief in his voice was evident.

Callum smiled. “The real question is, if you think it was your Calling… is that what happened to the other Wardens?”

Anders’ eyes widened again, his relief ebbing away. “You think… they are having their Calling as well?”

“I think they might think they are too, yeah. And if they are, and they don’t have anyone to tell them they’re not…”

“Maker…”

If the other Wardens all thought they were having their Callings at once, and had no one to tell them otherwise… then they would find the nearest route to the Deep Roads, and attempt to die with honor, fighting darkspawn, such was the way with Grey Wardens when it was their time. Maybe that was why all the Grey Wardens were missing. If that was the case… were there any of them left?

But then that left a nagging question.

“Why isn’t Blackwall having his Calling?” Callum asked.

“Maybe he is,” Anders said, “or, thinks he is, but he hasn’t said anything.”

Callum shrugged; it was possible. It took Anders a while to come to him about it, after all. Perhaps Blackwall was at Skyhold right now, suffering in silence, worried it was his time, and didn’t want to burden anyone with what he thought was a private matter. Perhaps fighting for the Inquisition was his way of honoring his time; he thought he could die that way, in battle for a cause, but he would not. Callum wouldn’t allow it. It wasn’t his time, it wasn’t his Calling, and this was all just part of Corypheus’ plan.

And Callum would stop Corypheus, or die trying.

“Callum?”

The sudden voice left Callum startling, reaching for the daggers resting on his back. In the same instant he calmed, because the voice was familiar and warm despite the inquisitive lilt, and he turned to find Dorian approaching the two of them, pushing aside a low-hanging branch.

“Hey, Dori,” Callum greeted with a smile.

“Is everything alright?” Dorian asked.

Anders and Callum shared a look.

“Yes,” Anders said, nodding. “I just had something I wanted to ask our Herald. I’m tired, so I think I will sleep. Varric has this watch, yes?”

“He does,” Dorian said, frowning.

It was clear their discussion was private, at least for the time being, so Callum honored Anders’ wishes and didn’t speak of it, merely offering Dorian an apologetic smile as Anders left the two of them alone.

“I was wondering when you’d get curious,” he said.

“The two of you were gone for quite some time,” Dorian said. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Callum said, shrugging. “Is everything okay at camp?”

“I believe so,” the mage answered. “Emry is snoring in his tent, and Varric is cleaning his crossbow. It’s rather quiet tonight.”

“That’s good.”

It had been a bit chaotic lately; quiet was good for a change.

The two started walking back toward camp.

“I forgot how peaceful it could be, here,” Dorian mused as they walked, listening to the background symphony of chirping crickets and hooting owls.

Callum chuckled. “Yeah – I’ve always enjoyed the Hinterlands. It’s nice that it can go back to how it was, now. Thinking of getting another hut here?”

“I don’t know about all that,” Dorian said, side-eying him briefly, “but the peace is nice.”

“Where do you want to go, when this is all over?” Callum asked curiously. Hopefully this would all end soon – Corypheus and everything, and things could return to normal. Whatever normal was these days, because at this point, he honestly had no idea.

“I shall go wherever you go, _Amatus_.”

Callum’s lips twitched upward into a wide smile.

xXx

“What if you’re wrong?”

Callum yawned, rubbing at his eyes as the firelight flickered, casting odd orange shadows behind his eyelids as he blinked. It was his turn to keep watch, a few hours later, while the others slept. Dorian finally went to sleep a few hours ago, leaving Callum alone to keep watch; it took a lot of convincing to get the mage to leave him alone. Callum enjoyed the protectiveness, but sometimes it could get a touch overbearing. He didn’t need a babysitter, after all.

He glanced over now to find Anders standing there just behind him, looking around nervously.

“Wrong about what?” he asked around another yawn. Thankfully his watch would end soon, and he could get some much needed sleep before they started traveling again in a few hours. He was exhausted.

“The…” Anders looked around, seemingly making sure everyone else was asleep in their tents. “My time,” he said softly.

Callum sighed. “I don’t think it’s you’re time, but if I’m wrong…” he swallowed. He didn’t want to think about if he was wrong and it was actually Anders’ Calling. He didn’t know the Grey Warden all the well, that was true; he would never know him as well as Hawke and Fenris knew him, but he and Anders got along well enough in the time they did spend in each other’s company, and Anders was a fine healer, and definitely someone Callum wanted on his side during a fight. He did consider the mage a friend, and he’d hate to lose him. He didn’t want to lose anyone else; he was tired of losing people.

But if he was wrong about his theory, and it was indeed Anders’ Calling…

There was a wary fear in Anders’ eyes he couldn’t just ignore with a joke or sarcastic quip. Anders needed reassurance, and this was a side of Anders he didn’t often see. Perhaps Hawke saw this side more, but Anders kept this side of himself hidden from Callum. Callum wouldn’t deny him reassurance now, though. Except he honestly didn’t know, himself; all he had were theories, but no guarantees.

Well… except one.

His mouth settled into a grim line.

“If I’m wrong,” he started again, causing Anders’ gaze to settle on him, “then I’ll spare you the trip to the Deep Roads. When you feel you’re tired of fighting… just let me know, and I’ll end it myself.”

Anders stared at him for a moment. “Are you… Do you mean you’ll…?”

The upward lilt to Callum’s mouth was anything but happy. “I’m a killer, did no one tell you?” he said mirthlessly. “But yes, I won’t let you suffer. If that’s what you want… then just… let me know. There’s no need to seek out the Deep Roads and die alone in the dark.” He drew in a slow breath. “I can make it quick, on a sunny day.”

Silence wrapped around them, a thick, uncomfortable blanket.

“That’s only if I’m wrong,” Callum said. “But I don’t think I am. We’ll need to speak to Hawke to be sure, though; see what he’s found in the Western Approach.”

Anders exhaled loudly. “You’d do that for me, though?”

Callum blinked. “Uh… of course?”

He’d be a terrible person if he only took the lives of strangers, but the life of a friend who needed him to do so, to spare them a painful, lonesome death. Even if it would weigh on him for the rest of his life, he’d still do it. But he didn’t think it would come to that. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

_Please don’t come to that._

“You should get some sleep,” he said, looking back toward the fire, all thoughts of sleep gone from his own mind.

xXx

They made camp in the mountains; tomorrow they would reach Skyhold, but tonight everyone was exhausted from traveling all day, and the air was frigid and icy. Dorian shivered, unable to feel his fingers as he sat close to the newly made fire. He doubted he’d ever get used to this southern weather, no matter how long he stayed here.

The thought made him frown. How long did he plan to stay here, exactly? When he first came here, he was fleeing. He had not set time in mind, he just knew he couldn’t stay in Tevinter any longer, not with his parents planning that ritual. Even now, years later, he still couldn’t believe they were willing to turn to such drastic measures, on their own son. The thought left a new chill entering his body that had little to do with the cold surrounding them. But now he’d been in the South for years; would he ever return to Tevinter, or was the South truly his home now?

He glanced over at Callum, who stretched after he finished putting him his and Dorian’s tent before moving to help putting up Emry’s. The archer glanced at him briefly, before he accepted the help and the two quickly got that tent pitched as well. A fond smile crossed Dorian’s face as he watched.

Perhaps the South was truly his home now. What was there waiting for him back in the North? Parents willing to turn to such a dreadful ritual because they didn’t agree with their son’s ‘habits’? A society which had never cared much for him in the first place? Dorian had grown up there, and while there were a few members he could recall fondly, most of his peers were rather rude toward him, and most of the adults were simply out for power. The Imperium was a crumbling society; he could see that now. His wide-eyed youth had hid that fact from him, but having been away from there for quite some time now, he knew that if something didn’t change… then Tevinter was quite possibly doomed. What was to stop other parents from turning on other children like him? Why should other children like him have to suffer, simply because they were ‘different’? He didn’t wish for others to have to suffer in silence, internally screaming for the rest of their lives, having to constantly hide who they were and what they wanted out of life just to please society and their parents. His parents couldn’t stand each other. He didn’t want to live like that.

He'd rather marry for love, if he was to marry at all. He’d rather have a happy life, instead of screaming on the inside. But that was the way things were in Tevinter, and if someone grew up ‘different’… then parents could just use that dreadful ritual.

Something needed to change in the North.

But change was difficult, especially when people were so stubborn, and there were none more stubborn than his countrymen.

“What’s on your mind?”

He blinked, unaware he’d been so trapped in his thoughts. Callum now sat next to him near the fire, the others all settled in their tents.

“I was just thinking of Tevinter,” he said, shaking his head.

“Oh,” Callum said, watching him carefully, the firelight catching hold of the copper flecks in his green eyes, making them burn. “Do you miss it there?”

“Yes and no.”

“You don’t talk about it much.”

“It is… difficult.”

“How so?”

Dorian looked away. “Things are different there, than they are here.”

“Yeah… I guess they are. But don’t you have family there? Don’t you miss them?”

Dorian could see how that might sway Callum’s opinion, coming from his point of view. Callum lost his entire family; if he had a chance to see them again, he’d definitely take it in a heartbeat, so the fact Dorian never spoke of them or talked about returning to Tevinter was confusing to him. But it was a difficult subject, and one Dorian couldn’t discuss around a fire on the way back to Skyhold. It was something he didn’t wish to discuss ever, but he knew he needed to tell Callum at some point. He owed the rogue that much, at least.

“Yes and no,” he said vaguely. “It is a tale I need to tell, but I don’t wish to discuss it here. Perhaps when we are back at Skyhold. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Callum said. “You don’t have to tell me, Dori. But I’m here if you ever want to talk.”

A warm hand settled on his exposed shoulder, gloved fingers curling faintly into his skin, before the hand fell away and Callum pushed to his feet. Dorian glanced back over at the rogue to find him standing next to him, stretching once more.

“I’m going to do a quick scout of the area,” Callum said.

“Is that wise?” Dorian asked, not happy with the rogue wandering off alone all the time.

Callum smirked at him; he could be quite infuriating. “I’ll be quick,” he promised, already disappearing from view.

Dorian snorted and shook his head, muttering under his breath about annoying, reckless rogues.

xXx

They returned to Skyhold late afternoon the next day, weary from their travels and low on supplies, but happy to back. Emry looked around in awe at the massive undertaking they’d done to rebuild the castle. While Callum showed him to his new quarters near the tavern, with The Iron Bull trailing after him expressing his discontent at the fact he wasn’t there to face down the dragon when not only was he Callum’s bodyguard, but he greatly enjoyed slaying dragons and he had told Callum this on many occasions, Dorian disappeared to restock on potions and healing salves and then to the library.

Emry thanked Callum for showing him the way to his quarters, but not before stating that he didn’t need such a large room. Callum told him to get used to it, and if he thought that was large, then he should see _his_ room. The smile he sent the elf was tense; no longer was the banter between him and Emry easy like it used to be, and he missed it so much it hurt. He never thought things would be so tense between them, never thought Emry’s eyes would be so dark, never thought Emry would look at him like that…

So much had changed, and it was his fault. He should have told Emry he was alive; he should have disrupted Emry’s life again, but at the time it hadn’t seemed like a good idea. Emry had already moved on; how could he interrupt his life again, after that? It seemed the selfish thing to do, to disrupt it once more after Emry had already moved on, thinking him dead. Or maybe that was the selfish thing; maybe he’d let his hurt and anger blind him. He didn’t know anymore.

But now Emry was so cold toward him, and he didn’t know how to fix it, or even if he could.

Emry was right, with what he said in the Hinterlands.

They didn’t know each other anymore.

Things had changed. They’d both changed.

They weren’t the same people they’d been before.

Emry wasn’t the same elf he’d been the last time they’d spoken to each other, before Callum disappeared into the time rift with the blood mage and Emry thought him dead.

Callum wasn’t the same person he’d been then, either. Back then he’d been more carefree; he went from job to job with Emry, while attempting to keep Dorian safe at his hut in the Hinterlands, and he visited him when he could. He’d also just located Hawke, so he tried to visit him too, when he could. He had a growing network of connections.

Now, though…

Now he had responsibilities.

People depended on him because of a glowing mark on his hand.

If they lost him, lost that mark…

_Then the Dark Future comes to pass._

He shook his head.

_No. I won’t allow it._

He’d have to talk to the advisors about coming up with an alternative back-up plan, should something befall him. If he was cut down in battle, or if something backfired with this mark they knew very little about, and it killed him, then they needed a fall-back plan. They couldn’t let the Dark Future come to pass, no matter what.

If something happened to him, then they needed something to take care of Corypheus.

“Callum?”

Emry spoke to him so seldom on the journey back to Skyhold that his sudden voice left him jumping. Callum stiffened and glanced at the elf, focusing on sunset eyes watching him, no longer so distant and cold like he was so used to seeing them. For once, it was the old Emry – _his_ Emry. He swallowed around the lump caught in his throat. “Yeah?”

Emry watched him for a moment, frowning. “Is everything… okay?”

Callum exhaled slowly, and then shakily, and then he laughed pathetically. “I don’t really know anymore, Em. I just… everything is kind of messed up, but I’m working on it. Sorry. I’ll get out of your hair.”

He turned to leave, but a hand caught his shoulder.

“Wait.”

He swallowed, and turned to face the archer.

“Yeah, Em?”

Emry exhaled loudly. “This is not… easy, for me.”

“What’s not?”

“I thought you were dead.”

Callum grit his teeth. “I know, and I’m sorry. I should have told you, I just… I thought it kinder to not disrupt your life again.”

“You should have told me you were alive.”

“I know that now. I’m sorry.”

Emry’s eyes narrowed at him. “I was never good at being angry with you.”

Callum laughed weakly. “That’s a lie. Remember that one time you used me as bait, and that guy nearly cut my head off?”

Emry’s lips twitched upward slightly, but only briefly. “That was different. You were being an ass.”

“How is that any different from usual?”

Emry shook his head, mirth fading. “I would like to try to get to know you again, if that is possible. I’d like us to be friends again, if we can.”

“I’d like that too, Em,” Callum said, smiling warmly, feeling something lighten in his chest, a heavy weight suddenly lifted. He’d been so worried he’d completely ruined everything between him and Emry, but here Emry was, offering him the olive branch he so desperately needed.

Emry had been his lifeline in their younger years; he wasn’t sure where he’d be without the elf. They’d kept each other alive and they’d kept each other sane.

Emry smiled faintly. He didn’t smile often, Callum recalled. “Then, as your friend – I know something is bothering you. Care to tell me what it is?”

Callum hesitated. “I was just thinking about this mark.” He raised his left hand, revealing the flickering green palm.

Emry eyed it briefly, clearly still unsettled by it. “And you still have no memory of what happened, or how you got it?”

“None,” he confirmed. “I think finding the Grey Wardens is the key, though.”

The frowned, then, because that was a piece of information he hadn’t shared with anyone. It was something he found in a dream; he could be false information. It was just a dream, after all. He couldn’t just throw his dreams around like they were actual information, not until he knew it for certain. But this was Emry, and he used to discuss his random dreams with the elf all the time, and it was so _easy_ with him…

Emry blinked at him. “Aren’t they all missing?”

“Yes,” Callum said with a nod. “Hawke is looking for clues about them in the Western Approach. Speaking of which, I should head to the war room to see if they have heard any word of him and his travels yet.”

It had been a while, after all; if he hadn’t returned yet, and they hadn’t heard word from him… then perhaps something had gone wrong, and they needed to head that way and see for themselves what had happened.

A knot formed in his stomach. He hoped nothing had gone wrong. He didn’t need to lose any more friends. He hoped Hawke was okay.

“Hawke,” Emry said. “Isn’t he the Inquisitor? And you’re the Herald. So you’re both in charge. Huh. I knew you had it in you, but I didn’t think you liked command.”

Callum grimaced. “I don’t,” he muttered, shaking his head even as he scrubbed a hand across his face, the torn edges of his gloves catching against the growing stubble on his face. “You know I prefer the shadows. But this stupid Anchor apparently means-”

“Anchor?”

“Oh, um, the mark,” he said, flashing his palm again.

“It’s called the Anchor?” Emry asked. “And it can apparently kill dragons.”

“Oh, man, I almost forgot about that,” Callum groaned, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. “They’re going to want to know about that, and discuss it for hours, and I am not in the mood for this conversation. I just want to sleep for a week.”

“You always were lazy.”

The attempt at humor caught him off guard, but was definitely a welcome change, and Callum barked out a quick laugh, tossing the elf a quick grin. “You know my spirit animal is a cat, Em – lazy but deadly and sneaky. Anyway, I should go get this discussion over with so I can sleep. If you need anything, come find me or Dorian or someone. Bull is usually at the tavern; he’ll point you in my direction,” Callum said, moving toward the door again.

Emry nodded. “Thank you.”

“Enjoy your stay, and welcome, again, to the Inquisition.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right now I'm debating on putting the Warden in this story or not. Since, when I started this story, I hadn't played Origins yet but I have kinda grown attached to my Wardens (I have two of them... they're both like the same level and everything now lol, one was created a year ago and I haven't really played him since then but I think he's my favorite, and the other I'm playing now, lol). Thoughts on this?
> 
> Oh also before I forget.
> 
> THIS IS GOING TO GET KIND OF PRETTY AU. Just a warning. I'm tired of just sticking primarily to the game all the time. So if things randomly start getting different, hey, oh well, this is a story. A work of fiction. So what.


	42. A Small Army

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian dreams a partial warning, Callum and Dorian talk briefly, and Callum fears their good luck might run out. Or, Hawke asks for a small army, and Callum delivers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, another chapter, and only a day later, gasp! I think I'm getting back into the swing of things, finally. Ugh. I'm trying to download the Trespasser DLC but sadly I can't figure out how to do it, so I guess I'll just wait until they come out with it on a disc or something. I don't know. Oh well. Like there's no 'hey go here to download the DLC for this game' option on the menu screen and typing it into the xbox live thing doesn't work so oh well, guess I just won't be playing it. Sigh. Oh well, I already know what happens in it, I just wanted to play it for myself. It's just kinda funny because I was already kinda heading down that route with my character even before that DLC came out xD so just, yeah. Anyway. But yeah this is getting more AU so bear with me and keep that in mind; I'm not sticking completely to the game, I'm making up my stuff, either because I've forgotten what my plans were, forgotten stuff from the game and don't feel like replaying through other parts, or haven't gotten to that part of the game in my new character (plus my new guy is a mage so dialogue is different than it was when I was a rogue, so, yeah) and just... yeah it's getting a bit more AU so just keep that in mind. Thanks. I also might introduce some more OCs, but we'll see.

Chapter Forty-One: A Small Army

 

It had been quite a while since Dorian saw a demon in his dreams. So long, in fact, he thought – hoped – they gave up. He especially hoped they gave up on wearing Callum’s form after the two of them got together, as there was no need to tempt him with that when he had the real thing next to him on a day-to-day basis, but currently the demon in question looked and sounded exactly like the rogue.

The scene began as a quiet morning with Dorian waking up, rolling over to find Callum in bed next to him, the covers draped over them but both of them shirtless, the covers falling away to reveal that much at least. Dorian knew it was a dream in that way he often did; it was this niggling feeling in the back of his mind, a certain glimmer in Callum’s eyes which was not present in real life, something missing that the demon could not, would never, get right.

As he once told Emry, the demons would never get everything absolutely correct when attempting to impersonate someone. They would try, and if you let your will down for even a second it might fool you, but Dorian had been battling demons since he was a small child; he knew exactly what to look for. He knew what it felt like to be around demons; he knew what it felt like to dream of them.

He knew this was a dream, and he knew that was a demon in front of him, looking at him like that with that soft quirk of those lips, and not Callum. That wasn’t Callum, which was truly a shame, because he quite liked it when Callum looked at him like that.

“Why do you continue to come to me?” he asked, sighing. “Surely you know you will get nothing from me by now.”

“Maybe I just like seeing you squirm,” the demon wearing Callum’s face said smoothly, twisting Callum’s mouth into an easy smile as it shifted closer. Dorian shifted backward until he was pressed against the backboard. “And did you ever think that maybe I am not here to tempt you?”

“Then what could you possibly be here for?” Dorian asked, unable to stop himself, staring at the demon who stared back with eyes impossibly Callum’s. Those were Callum’s eyes, definitely, except they lacked a certain determined glow, replaced with something… else. Something he couldn’t quite place, which left him unable to look away, as he was determined to find out what was missing.

“Perhaps I wish to warn you.”

“Why would you possibly want to warn me?”

“I have enjoyed our interactions. You fascinate me.”

Dorian’s mind spun, thoughts racing rapidly through his brain. He attempted to collect his scattered thoughts but it was a futile battle. “What? How do I fascinate you?” It didn’t make any sense!

“You just do,” the demon said evasively, shrugging that shrug which was so familiar and yet so strange, because as much as it looked like Callum, it _wasn’t_ him.

“Uh huh…” Dorian said slowly, frowning as he eyed the demon warily. “And if I take this warning… what then? What do you want form me in return?”

“Only a kiss.”

“A… kiss,” he repeated slowly.

“A kiss,” Callum repeated.

“Why? What will this kiss do? Is this like… a deal?”

“No deal,” Callum said, shaking his head, smirking somewhat. “You have no faith. A kiss is just a kiss if there are no other words. I only ask for a kiss. I want you to kiss me like you kiss him.”

“Why?”

“You fascinate me.”

They were going in circles. Perhaps it was best to not question the curiosities of demons. So far this demon hadn’t truly hurt him or bothered him much other than a few dreams; she’d even been helpful once, and hadn’t really asked for anything in return. But could he take the demon at their word and accept the fact that when they said a kiss was just a kiss, and nothing would happen… that it was true…

“What’s this warning?” he asked. “What’s it about?”

“That would be telling,” the demon said.

“I need to know what I’m buying,” he replied.

The demon sighed, eying him as he sat next to him in bed. Dorian pushed himself up further so they were both sitting completely, instead of him being partially on his elbows as he had been before.

“It concerns the one whose face I wear,” the demon said with a smirk.

Dorian swallowed, running his gaze across Callum’s face again.

“Do you accept?” Callum asked.

“I…” Dorian hesitated, swallowing again, before he drew in a breath and-

“Dorian, wake up,” a voice echoed around him. “Come on, sleepyhead, we have work to do.”

The demon vanished with a regretful sigh, the words “I tried to warn you” echoing around him consciousness slammed into him.

Dorian’s eyes opened and he found himself staring up at the ceiling of Callum’s overly large quarters. He swallowed, the dream all too vivid right now, and the demon’s parting words too clear in his mind. The demon had a warning to give him, a warning about Callum. What did that mean? What kind of warning? What was going to happen? Was Callum going to do something he shouldn’t, or was something going to happen to Callum?

“Dorian?” Callum’s face appeared above him as the rogue hovered over him. “Are you with me, Dori?”

Dorian swallowed, forcing a smile. “I’m awake, _Amatus_.”

“I can see that,” Callum said, rolling his eyes. “You slept like the dead, Dori. Do all necromancers do that or are you just special?” He moved away from the bed, padding across the floor with his boots. “I wasn’t going to wake you, but it’s well past noon and if you don’t get up now you’re not going to have time to eat before we go.”

“Go?” Dorian echoed, forcing himself to sit up. “Where are we going? We just got here.”

They just returned to Skyhold only yesterday afternoon; why were they leaving again so suddenly, and so soon?

“A raven arrived in the night, from Hawke,” Callum answered as he walked about the room, gathering supplies to stuff in his knapsack. He already had on his armor and everything. Dorian truly must have been exhausted and disturbed by his dream to not have noticed until now. “We’re to meet him with a small army in the Western Approach as soon as possible, so we leave in a few hours. I thought you’d like to eat and digest and bathe before we leave, so I had to wake you. Sorry, Dear.”

“It’s okay,” Dorian said, feeling warmth flood through him at the name. Callum didn’t say it often.

“I’d let you continue sleeping if I could.”

“I am aware. How much sleep did you get?”

The rogue had gotten to bed late last night, after having several discussions with the advisors about his newfound ‘dragon slaying’ ability, as he’d taken to calling it. He had no other name for it, he said, and the one time he’d used it, it had killed a dragon. The advisors had been stunned at the mention of this new ability, and eager to see if he could use it again. It would definitely come in handy, they said, and help with the Breach. It was once thought the Breach was closed for good, but it was only temporarily sealed; it wasn’t growing larger, but it wasn’t gone. Callum wasn’t powerful enough to get rid of it entirely, at least not at the time. He could only stop it from growing and spilling more demons from the Fade, and other smaller rifts into other areas. Soon, perhaps he could close it entirely, especially now that he could create his own rifts to kill dragons, according to the advisors.

Dorian did not think it wise to toy with such magic, especially since Callum was not a mage. It could seriously hurt him, or worse.

The demon’s words from his dream returned to him then.

What did the demon wish to warn him about, concerning Callum?

_Is he in danger? What is going to happen?_

He didn’t know.

But he wouldn’t let it happen. He would stop it.

The demon never told him; there wasn’t time, since he woke up.

But he knew something was amiss, and it concerned Callum.

He would stick close to his rogue’s side, and not leave it.

He would not let anything befall the rogue.

Sensing Dorian’s eyes following him, Callum stopped what he was doing and turned back toward the bed, frowning. “Do I have something on my face? If you marked on me or something, I swear to the Maker… I went and ate breakfast with Bull and everything and he didn’t tell me.” He rubbed a newly gloved hand across his face, scowling at Dorian all the while.

Dorian shook his head. “There is nothing on your face, _Amatus_.”

“Oh, that’s good, then,” Callum said, frown returning. “So what’s wrong?”

Dorian hesitated. A part of him wished to tell Callum about the dream, but he knew how that would look. Mages dreaming of demons was frowned upon in Tevinter; he could only imagine how it seemed here in the South, where the rules were much harsher. And with tensions already much higher… “Nothing. I am fine,” he said.

It was just a dream, after all. No need to worry Callum over a simple dream.

For all he knew the demon was wrong, and was just toying with him. They did that sometimes. Perhaps it was just trying to make him paranoid.

“Are you certain? You look a little pale,” Callum said, approaching the bed to sit on the edge of it, removing a glove to press his bare fingers against Dorian’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm. Are you feeling alright? Perhaps Anders should take a look at you. You don’t… You don’t have to go to the Western Approach, you know.”

Dorian scowled at him. “And let you go there without me? That is not an option, you foolish rogue.”

Callum sighed heavily. “You don’t have to come with me. I want you with me, of course, but you don’t… I mean, you don’t have to feel obligated to always be at my side, you know.”

“I’m coming with you,” Dorian said adamantly.

“Fine,” Callum said, removing his hand. “But only if you get the all-clear from a healer, so I suggest seeing Anders before you do anything else. I’m not taking you with me if you’re not in perfect health.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Too bad,” Callum said, standing from the bed, turning his back to Dorian. “I won’t have you endangering yourself. Do you…” He exhaled loudly, shoulders tensing. “Do you have any idea what it would do to me if something happened to you because you’re too stubborn to get yourself looked over?”

Dorian remained silent for a moment, watching the set of Callum’s rigid shoulders beneath the armor. After a moment he drew in a breath. “Do you have any idea what it would to me,” he began quietly, watching Callum stiffen further, “if you left without me, and never returned?”

Callum’s shoulders were so tense he appeared almost as though he were a statue, before he turned slowly, and faced Dorian, copper-green eyes looked him over briefly. “It would ruin me,” he said, answering his own question.

“It would destroy me,” Dorian said, answering his. “So do not make me think about it. Let me be at your side.”

Something cracked in Callum’s gaze, which did not happen often, Dorian knew. “You still need to see a healer.”

“I am fine, _Amatus_. I merely had a worrisome dream and was lost in my thoughts. I suffer no ailments. But I will see a healer if it will set your mind at ease.”

“It will,” Callum said, nodding quickly. “Thank you. And what do you mean, worrisome dream? Like a nightmare? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Such dreams are my burden to bear, not yours,” Dorian said. “I didn’t think it mattered. I’m sorry.”

He wanted to tell Callum about the demon, about how it wore his face again, how it had been to see him in his dreams multiple times in the past few years, how it gave him a hint about how Callum lived in the past, without asking for anything in return… and about how now all it asked for was a kiss, and not a deal, and it wanted to give him a warning about something to do with Callum. He wanted to tell Callum everything, because he didn’t like keeping secrets, but discussing his dreams was never easy for him. It was a private matter amongst mages, especially when it concerned demons, and the demon could have been lying. This could have been a ploy to make him paranoid.

Maybe.

Or maybe it was true, and something was going to happen. Callum might do something, or something could happen to him.

Either way, Dorian wasn’t about to leave the rogue’s side for any reason.

Nor was he willing to discuss the dream, though. At least, not yet. Perhaps later, when it wasn’t so fresh in his mind, making his blood run cold with fear.

“If it’s worrying you, it _is_ my burden, too,” Callum said, shaking his head with a sigh. “I understand about nightmares. I get them too, you know.”

“I apologize, Cal.”

Callum nodded. “It’s fine, Dori. Anyway – you better pack, and eat, and see a healer. Don’t think you’re getting out of that.”

“Very well.”

Callum picked up his forgotten knapsack and headed toward the door, but not before turning back to look at Dorian again, hand grasping the doorknob. “There’s some stew in the tavern; it’s actually pretty good today.”

“Thank you.”

Callum nodded, and took his leave. The door closed silently behind him, leaving Dorian alone in the quarters they now shared.

Dorian drew in a slow breath and closed his eyes, bowing his head forward slightly. He hated keeping this from the rogue; he hated keeping secrets, but his dreams had always been a private matter, and it might not even be true. The demon might be lying.

_But I’ll stick by your side anyway._

He’d keep a careful eye on Callum just in case; he wouldn’t let anything happen to him, not again.

Dorian threw back the covers and finally climbed out of bed.

xXx

Callum entered the training grounds to find Cassandra ramming her shield into a practice target, bashing it into oblivion. He smiled at her; the seeker was a focused warrior, and he admired her for her determination. She looked over as he approached, and lowered her shield and sword, stepping away from the practice target.

“It is not often you come find me,” she said in that heavy accent of hers. “I hear you are leaving for the Western Approach. Have you chosen who you are taking with you?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually,” he said. “I can think of no greater warrior to take with me, if you’re willing to join me, that is.”

“I am sure The Iron Bull would take offense to that.”

“I said the same to him, actually,” Callum admitted sheepishly, smirking at her.

She actually smirked back. “You are incorrigible. I will gladly join you. I fear there is more going on than Hawke told us in his letter.”

Callum nodded. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Cassandra sighed and shook her head, her mirth fading. “When I put him in this position as Inquisitor, I never dreamed it would get like this. I had hoped to stem the flow from the beginning, but now there is a Breach in the sky, and war across Thedas, and it does not look to be ending soon.”

She held regret for the position she placed Hawke in, Callum knew. After spending so much time with the mage, she did consider him a friend, and not just an ally. Callum knew the feeling was mutual, too. And she felt responsible for Hawke; she placed him into the position of Inquisitor and if Hawke was in danger because of it – which, he usually was – then she felt guilty because of it, because that was her decision. Callum understood that all too well. He was the one who tracked Hawke down for her, after all. He carried that weight, too.

“It’ll end eventually,” he said.

It had to.

Nothing could last forever.

“I hope you are right,” Cassandra said. “When do we leave?”

“Within the hour,” he said. “We are just finishing packing up now. I hope that’s not too short notice.”

“That is fine.”

“Alright.”

“Who all is coming with us?”

“Hawke asked for a small army, so we’re giving him one.”

“So who…?”

Callum smiled grimly. “Everyone.”

xXx

Varric held Bianca in his arms, ready to go as he waited for Callum at Skyhold’s gates a half hour before it was time to go, checking to make sure everything was perfect with his crossbow. He kept that thing in perfect working order, but said the mystery behind it was the one story he would never tell. Callum always respected his wishes, though he was curious about it. They all had their secrets, though, and their stories they didn’t wish to tell.

“Hey,” Callum said, approaching the dwarf. Varric glanced at him as he approached, slinging his crossbow back into place. “Back on the road again, huh? You ready for this?”

“Ready to get back into the action, yeah,” Varric said. “Maybe one day these old bones will get tired of it, but today is not that day.”

“You’ll get bored the day you stop fighting,” Callum told him.

“Hawke said the same thing, once.”

“You’re worried about him.”

“Is it that obvious?” Varric asked.

“Not really, but I know you,” Callum said, shrugging, slinging his knapsack over his shoulder. “You’ve got this crease to your brow. I know Hawke’s your friend, and I know you’re worried about him. He’s been gone for a while. I’m worried about him too. But don’t worry; we’ll see him again soon.”

“I hope you’re right. This whole thing feels off.”

Callum nodded; Varric wasn’t wrong. There was something deeply offsetting about this whole thing he just couldn’t place, but there was a knot in his stomach which wouldn’t go away no matter how many times he told himself everything would be fine. It wasn’t like they were going into this completely blind; Hawke gave them instructions on where to go, and they were bringing a small army. They were meeting Hawke at a certain location, and he would further explain things there, but didn’t feel safe explaining everything through a letter, which was understandable. Ravens could be intercepted, after all.

Despite all their precautions, and the fact they certainly weren’t marching into this alone, it still felt wrong. It still felt like something bad was going to happen, this terrible knot in his stomach, a sense of foreboding he couldn’t quite place.

“We’ll get through this,” Callum said.

“Sure we will, Dicey,” Varric said, nodding. “We always do.”

_We always do._

But one day, there would come a time when things did not work out the way they wanted, because that was how life worked. Just as he told Cassandra, everything ended eventually, and that included their good luck. Misfortune would fine them eventually, as all good things inevitably ended.

“There you are,” came a voice.

Callum turned to find Dorian approaching them.

“We are not due to leave yet, are we?” Dorian asked. “I didn’t think it was for a half hour, yet.”

“Not yet,” Callum said.

“Dicey and I just like to get a headstart,” Varric said.

“You would start the fun without me?”

“Never,” Callum said, shaking his head even as he smirked at the necromancer. He eyed Dorian’s heaping knapsack. “What do you have in there?”

“Potions, bandaging, and some clothing and extra armor,” Dorian replied.

“Extra armor?”

“For you,” the mage admitted.

“I have all the armor I need on me.”

“You never know what you may need.”

Callum scowled. “Dorian, you don’t need to weigh yourself down with armor I’m probably not going to wear. I have my own bag, you know. If I need it, I’ll carry it.”

“It is fine, _Amatus_.”

Callum shook his head. “Take it out, I don’t need it.” He reached for the knapsack but Dorian carefully moved out of his reach. “Dorian.”

“It is just a precaution.”

“Then give it to me, and I’ll carry it, if you’re so set on taking it with us,” Callum said, since it was _his_ armor Dorian was lugging around.

“Ah, young love,” Varric said, snickering.

Callum threw him a quick glare before glancing back at Dorian. “Why are you being so difficult?”

“You have to travel lightly, as a rogue,” Dorian said, scowling back at him. “I do not mind the extra weight.”

“He has a point, Dicey.”

“Ugh, _fine_ ,” Callum muttered, shaking his head. “Whatever. Did you see Anders, at least?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“I am in perfect health, as I told you.”

Callum eyed him skeptically for a moment, before he nodded. “Good. You better not be lying to me, or I will kill you myself.”

“I would never lie to you.”

Callum smirked, and glanced behind Dorian as others started arriving at the gates, their nerves apparently getting the best of them as well, causing them to show up early too. Cassandra joined them, with Bull right behind her, and Emry trailing behind him, all apparently coming from the tavern.

“Let’s find another dragon, Boss,” The Iron Bull said.

Callum laughed. “Yeah, I’ll see what I can do.”

Dorian shook his head, muttering under his breath about crazy, reckless rogues. Callum nudged him in the side, causing the mage to toss him a nasty glance, which left him laughing again.

Callum glanced at Emry, who looked so small standing next to Iron Bull. “Hey, Em,” he said, happy they were giving this friendship thing another try. It had been so strange, living without his best friend for so long. He wondered if they’d ever be best friends again, after the distance between them. Maybe not, but at least Emry was back in his life again. That was something, at least. “You ready for this?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Emry said. “I miss the good old days when it was simple, you know? Go here, find the target, get paid, move onto the next…”

“Yeah,” Callum said with a nostalgic sigh, “the good old days.”

But those days were long gone, and he’d never get them back. Not so long as he had this blighted mark on his hand, this Anchor, which was apparently permanent. He’d never be rid of it; he be stuck with it forever, and it always hurt and glow and crackle and burn…

He flexed his left hand unconsciously, and turned away from Emry to face the gates of Skyhold. Others joined them, Anders and Cole and the others finally arriving even though it wasn’t technically time to leave yet, and the gates began to lower as Callum nodded at the guard.

The wind hit him full force now that the gates were open, and no longer up to stop the chilly air. Snow attempted to blind him, but such was the curse of living in the mountains. It helped hide their location, though it made it difficult to navigate sometimes, and was always a freezing pain to leave and approach Skyhold. It was always, in his opinion, the worse part of the journey. He, Dorian, and Varric led the way out of Skyhold, with the others following right behind them.

With any luck, they’d reach the Western Approach in just over a week, as it was clear across Orlais. They’d be there in a week, and they could help Hawke and find out what happened with the Grey Wardens.

And they could all get answers.

Hawke just needed to hold out until then.

 


	43. Here Lies the Abyss part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rogues discuss mishaps with stealth on the way to Adamant, while Dorian wonders why things can never be easy. Meanwhile, there's a dragon in the sky and demons at the gate. Or, they finally reach Adamant Fortress with that small army Hawke requested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, another chapter before too long xD Only a few days later, yay. I'm level 10 in my new Callum playthrough, so that's good, and I'm using some abilities I never used in my old playthrough, and it's on the xbox one so the graphics are awesome (so beautiful, omg) and I can actually change my wardrobe at Skyhold, thank the Maker. No more beige pajamas, yay xD Now I just need my cowl and I'll be good to go. If I get it; I wasn't being picky about picking everything up like I was last time I played so I might not get my usual cowl I always have that offers no additional armor or anything but I always have it equipped lol and I've always gotten it every time I've played except I might not this time, idk. It's the cowl Callum has in the story too. Anywho.
> 
> This chapter is a bit longer than the others but finally came to a decent stopping point. I haven't played this part of the game since my first playthrough of it on Schuyler, who was my first character and my first dual wield rogue (and the only character I've completed the game with). So I'm going mostly from memory and random things I'm throwing in because hey, AU, remember.

Chapter Forty-Two: Here Lies the Abyss (Part 1)

 

A week and a half later, they made it to the rendezvous point, a little worse for wear, and found no one waiting for them. Callum looked around wearily, leaning against Dorian, exhausted from traveling, as Dorian himself leaned against his staff. The journey here had been rough, fraught with danger and bandits and attacks, Callum was still limping and sore; the others were still fatigued as well, but they were finally here, and Hawke was not. Callum caught Varric looking around worriedly for his friend, and Anders doing the same, though they tried to be subtle about it. Nevertheless, he noticed.

“Where are they?” Cassandra asked the question everyone had on their mind, but no one else said.

“Perhaps we missed them,” Solas said. “We were delayed.”

“They would have waited, whatever they were doing,” Varric said, shaking his head. “That’s not like Hawke. He knew we were coming.”

“Maybe he didn’t,” Callum said, frowning. “The letter was vague, hinting at this location. Maybe he thought it would be intercepted. Maybe he doesn’t know we got it, and maybe he didn’t know we were even coming.”

“Leliana sent word ahead,” Cassandra said, dismissing that thought.

“Perhaps it was intercepted,” Callum replied. “Think about it; the attacks and everything, they seemed to know we were coming. Maybe Leliana’s ravens were intercepted.”

“It is possible,” Cassandra hedged. “Though she sent many, just in case. I find it hard to believe all of them were intercepted. He had to know we were coming.”

“So where is he?” Anders asked.

“That is the question,” Dorian said.

Callum looked around, limping away from Dorian. Fatigue weighed him down and all he wanted to do was sleep, and rest for a long while, but he knew that wasn’t an option. The journey here had indeed been long and rough, on everyone. The campsite had been used recently, the embers cold but it was obvious a fire had been here, and footsteps had been walked around it. People had been here; people had stayed here, recently. Perhaps they had just missed them, even just a few hours ago.

Even so, they were too late, and they had no way of knowing where Hawke was going next.

They had this army Hawke requested, which he obviously thought he needed, and no way of finding him.

_Maker take you, Hawke. Why couldn’t you have waited? Surely you must have known we were coming…_

He scrubbed a hand over his face. He was so exhausted; his head throbbed painfully, but he knew there would be no rest until they located Hawke and figured out what was going on here. He looked around, and then stiffened as he heard movement in the background, rocks shifting, light footsteps, barely noticeable but there nevertheless. He reached for his daggers, the sound of which left a barrier falling over him, curtesy of Dorian.

“Show yourself,” he ordered, glaring at the shadows.

“Ah, you must be the so-called Herald of Andraste, no?” came an accented voice, similar to Josephine’s. “At least, I should hope that is what you are, with such an army at your disposal, otherwise I am not as fortunate as I had hoped.”

A light-haired elf appeared, light leather armor on, not unlike his own, with dual daggers resting on his back. He held his hands up, palms open, to show he was defenseless yet somehow Callum doubted that very much, with the way the elf moved so gracefully, all too aware of his body’s abilities. He moved with such ease, capable in a fight, he already knew. The smile on the elf’s face, lifting upward toward tattoos, was disarming enough, but held a certain bite behind it as well, his brown eyes calculating in a tempered, deadly way Callum knew all too well; he’d seen it so often at the guild.

“You seem to know who I am,” he said, eying the elf carefully. “But who are you?”

“Ah, forgive me, I am Zevran Arainai, former Crow, ally to-”

“Crow,” Emry said. “He’s an assassin.”

Callum knew that, though; he could tell just by looking at him. “Yeah, but so are we,” he said without thinking. _Or, at least, I used to be. I don’t exactly know what I am anymore, except someone with a mark on their hand._ He looked back at the former Crow assassin. “Zevran, huh? You wouldn’t be the Zevran that hung around with Warden Theron, would you?”

Zevran’s eyes brightened, Callum noticed. “You know Theron?”

“Everyone knows of Theron,” Cassandra said.

“I know him, and I know of him,” Callum said, shrugging.

“How do you know him?” Dorian asked. “You never said you knew the Hero of Fereldan.”

“It never came up,” Callum said, realizing everyone was staring at him now. _Oh boy._ “It happened, uh… last year. You know, when everyone thought I was dead? After the mage took me seven months into the future and I… ran off, and disappeared again, and no one knew where I was? Yeah, then. I ran into him then, but Zevran wasn’t with him. He mentioned him, though.” He looked back at Zevran. “I think he said you were in Antiva, taking care of Crow business.”

Zevran nodded, an amused quirk to his lips. “That I was, yes. Theron understands.”

“You’re still an assassin? But I thought you said former Crow,” Emry said.

“No, no, no, you misunderstand,” Zevran said, shaking his head.

“That’s not the important part right now,” Callum said, getting them back on track. “Where’s Hawke and the others? Is Theron here?”

“Theron is here, yes; he went with Hawke and Stroud to Adamant Fortress. Something big is happening there tonight, and it couldn’t wait, they said. They left me here to wait for you, because they would need the army you were bringing, but they had to leave immediately, they said. Warden business, otherwise they would have brought me, they said.” Zevran looked quite put out that he was left behind. “I’m to lead you there immediately.”

“Then let’s not waste any more time,” Cassandra said, sharing a look with Callum.

Callum nodded, despite how exhausted he felt.

“I have a stamina potion, if you need it,” Dorian whispered to him, as they began to leave the area, following behind Zevran.

Callum hesitated. He didn’t like taking those because they left him wired for hours, and his mind refused to quiet to let him sleep when he was finally able to do so. He always felt so very jittery afterward. But if there was a battle to be had, he would need it. He nodded.

Dorian pulled it from his knapsack and handed it to the rogue.

Callum kept it in his grasp, but didn’t swallow it yet; he would save it for when it closer for the battle to begin, because he knew there would be a battle.

Things were never easy for them.

Zevran fell back a few steps once the direction was clear.

“So you are a rogue as well,” Zevran says, running his eyes up and down Callum, taking in his attire and his blades, “and you prefer blades! When I traveled with the Warden, I was the only one with such preferences. Tell me, have you run into the _problem_ yet?”

“The problem? I have many. You’ll have to be more specific,” Callum said, shaking his head slightly.

“The problem,” Zevran said, as though it should be quite clear. “You enjoy stealth, no?”

“Stealth is nice, yes,” Callum agreed.

“He’s quite crazy about it,” Dorian said.

Callum tossed him a fond smile.

“Have you ever been ‘cloaked’ as it were, and been hit with friendly fire whilst you and your companion go after the same enemy?” Zevran asked. “Because you are cloaked, and your companion does not know you are there.”

“Oh, that,” Callum said, grimacing. “Ugh, yeah, that’s happened a few times.”

“It what?” Dorian asked, tossing him a glare. “Why am I just now hearing about this?”

Callum winced. “It didn’t seem important. It hasn’t happened in a while; I’ve been more careful about who I target in a fight, and where everyone is.”

Dorian eyed him, frowning deeply. Oh, Maker. What can of worms did he just open? He should have kept his mouth shut.

Zevran continued, oblivious to Dorian’s glare. “It startled Theron greatly the first time it happened in our travels. He went to strike an enemy down with the pommel of his nug crusher mallet, and struck me instead. I uncloaked to fall to the ground, stunned and injured, and he fretted over me for a time, telling me how very sorry he was.”

Callum chuckled despite himself, and despite the glares being sent into the side of his head. “Yeah, a similar thing happened to me, but with arrows,” he said, shaking his head. “Emry was less forgiving, shouting at me all the while even as I lay there in agony. He didn’t let me forget about it for months, either.”

“Did I hear my name?” Emry asked, joining them.

“Oh, yeah. We’re discussing mishaps with stealth,” Callum said, nodding at his friend, welcoming him into the conversation. “Remember the first time you accidentally shot me with your arrows when I was cloaked and you didn’t know I was there, in the early days? You were so pissed for days.”

Emry scowled. “Well, you know better than to go after the same guy as me.”

“Yeah, _now_. But back then I was still learning. My shoulder has never been the same, you know. It still hurts when it rains.”

“I’d think you’d be more concerned about your head.”

Callum threw his friend a glare. “I try to forget about that, you know.”

“What’s this about your head?” Dorian asked.

“Nothing,” Callum said, a bit too quickly.

“He keeps his hair longer now to hide it,” Emry said, instantly ratting him out, the bastard, “but just at the hairline there’s a scar where my arrow nearly went through his skull when we went after the same bandit. I chewed him out for days after that little stunt.”

“Oh, like it’s _my_ fault! You’re still blaming me for that, when _you_ were in charge of that little plan!” Callum scoffed, throwing the elf a death glare. “And need I remind you, it was a learning experience; we were young and it hasn’t happened in ages!”

“Oh yeah? What about that time you stealth took a hit for me?” Emry asked, narrowing his eyes at him. “I turned around to face my attacker and there you are on the ground, bleeding out.”

“Maker’s breath,” Callum muttered, listening to Dorian mutter something nasty in Tevene behind him, “you swore never to mention that again! That was ages ago, and if I recall, it saved your bloody life. After you got over being pissed at me, you thanked me! Where’s the love, Em?”

Zevran snickered. “Theron often cursed my use of stealth, as well.”

“I’m beginning to understand why,” Dorian said darkly.

 _As if he didn’t think I was reckless enough,_ Callum thought with a sigh.

He drew in a breath and faced Dorian, who glared at him in return. “You did not think it prudent to mention any of this to me?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling smaller by the second. “I didn’t think it mattered… it hasn’t happened in years. Right, Em?”

Emry shrugged. “He has a point.”

Callum gestured at the elf while looking at the mage. “See?” he implored.

Zevran laughed. “I can see I have started something I should not have,” he said. “I apologize.” With that he walked away, leaving Callum to his fate, that traitor. Callum threw him a glare, which he knew the former Crow felt, but adeptly ignored.

Emry wandered off as well the moment Callum looked away from him.

_Traitor._

That left Callum walking alone with a glaring Dorian.

_Great._

“It hasn’t happened in years,” he said again, weakly. “I didn’t think it was important. It’s just something that happens. All rogues have to be wary of it; ask Varric! It’s just something to be wary of when you use stealth…”

Dorian continued to glare at him in silence as they walked, the others growing further ahead of them.

“Look, Dori, I – ngh!” The pain was sudden and sharp, white-hot agony pulsing through his hand as the mark flared the life, crackling green energy surrounding his palm. He staggered but managed to keep from falling to his knees as he grasped at his throbbing hand with his good hand, looking around for the source of the pain, but he could see no rift nearby. Then why – why was it hurting so much, and so suddenly?

“ _Amatus_?”

The tempered way in which Dorian spoke left Callum swallowing thickly, biting down hard on his lower lip as the mark flared again, pain shooting up his arm and into his shoulder, so sharp and white-hot. “I’m…” He drew in a ragged breath. “I’m okay,” he choked. “I’m okay.”

“What’s happening? What’s wrong? Is there a rift nearby?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Callum said, willing the pain away as he screwed his eyes shut, teeth gritting together harshly.

“What’s going on?” Emry asked, joining them again. “What’s wrong with him? Cal, you okay?”

“That is an interesting mark,” Zevran commented.

 _Great._ Now he had an audience. Just what he needed.

“Give him some space,” Cassandra ordered. “Callum, are you okay?”

“Boss?”

Just as suddenly as the pain appeared, and the crackling green energy thrumming through him, white-hot agony, it left. The green glow dispersed as though it were never there, and Callum could breathe again. He released a choked breath and opened his eyes, looking down at his left palm, flexing his fingers carefully. The whole hand ached residually; it hadn’t been like this since Haven. Since Corypheus.

He swallowed and looked at Zevran. “Exactly why did Hawke want this army?”

“Something big was happening,” Zevran said. “I don’t know more. Theron said it was Warden business and told me to wait for you. That’s all I know. Something big is happening tonight. We need to hurry.”

A snarl was heard in the air.

A roar, of sorts.

Callum stiffened, a chill inching down his spine, tempering the white-hot agony from earlier.

He looked skyward, and saw the dragon.

Not just any dragon, because he would know that dragon anywhere.

It had made that laughing sound when he’d stood alone against Corypheus in Haven, distracting him while the others escaped.

“We need to hurry,” he said distantly, unaware he was speaking until everyone looked at him. “Now.”

xXx

Dorian kept a close eye on Callum as they hurried toward Adamant Fortress. He had no idea what happened with the mark, or what caused Callum such pain, and he was still cross with him for not mentioning the whole ‘stealth’ thing sooner. Though, if he was being honest with himself, he was more angry with himself than anything, because the thought hadn’t once crossed his mind, and it should have. In all the battles they’d faced together, he’d never thought he’d actually hit the rogue accidentally, when it could so very easily happen. A stray spell could easily wound him, or worse, because whenever Callum cloaked himself and went invisible to the naked eye, no one knew where he was until he un-cloaked and revealed himself, usually after attacking or whenever he was ready to show himself.

It would be so easy to accidentally attack him, if they went after the same target. He hadn’t realized how careful Callum had actually been in their battles, how focused he had been on who his allies had been going after, in order to place himself out of harm’s way. In a way, it was quite impressive, but also worrisome, as it spoke of past missteps. Such as an arrow to the shoulder, and apparently a near-miss with his head, a scar Dorian would definitely be investigating later. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized any of this sooner. Now he would definitely be much more careful on the battlefield, and he found he had a particular distaste for Callum’s stealth ability he did not have before, though he’d often muttered under his breath whenever Callum cloaked and walked away from him, disappearing from his view to enter the fray of battle.

The roaring of the dragon flying around overhead tore him from his thoughts, and he looked skyward. He was hoping he would not having to face a dragon again anytime soon, but sadly that did not appear to be the case. Was this _the_ dragon, then? Corypheus’ dragon? The archdemon, perhaps? Judging by Callum’s reaction, he would have to go with yes. If so, did that mean Corypheus was here? Was he responsible for the mark suddenly flaring to life with no rifts around? Was this what it was like at Haven, before it became covered in snow?

This time, Dorian would remain at his side.

The closer they grew to Adamant, the tall sides of the fortress stark against the darkening storm clouds in the sky, the more tense everyone became. What little chatter remained was terse and forced, but kept up to fill the silence nevertheless. Zevran informed them of where Hawke and the Warden were located, and what the general plan was, or at least, what they’d told him before departing, but it might have changed, he said. Things were always changing, especially now that there was a dragon flying across the sky, which was quite possibly yet another arch demon.

Things always had to be complicated. Just once, Dorian truly wished things could just go smoothly, but that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?

Things had never been simple, if he was being honest with himself. Not in Tevinter, silently screaming on the inside until he fled. Not in the Hinterlands… except for those first few months, but it was only for a few months. Then the mage-templar war broke out across southern Thedas, and the world slid into chaos, and he further had to hide himself as a mage. Then the time-traveling mage returned, and further threw things into disarray, and things had never truly calmed down from then.

Now there was a Breach in the sky, a darkspawn magister on the loose, and a mark on Callum’s hand they knew little about. Nothing was ever simple.

There wasn’t any resistance as they approached the fortress, which was surprising and worrisome. Dorian shared a look with Callum; the fortress should have been better guarded. As they walked up the footpath toward the main gate entrance, they heard the sounds of fighting. Instantly Bull charged forward, into the nearest attacker who spotted them as soon as they entered the fortress. Their first attackers were, surprisingly, Grey Wardens. Blackwall gasped, shocked.

“No,” he said, horrified, “what are you doing? You are Wardens! Don’t attack the Inquisition!”

The Grey Wardens didn’t listen to him, didn’t even seem to hear him at all as they fought tooth and nail against the Inquisition forces. Dorian lost sight of Callum in the fray as the rogue cloaked himself in the shadows, and it took all Dorian had to fight as he always did, and not change his target at the last minute, worried he would hit Callum instead. Callum had been careful in his movements thus far, but if Dorian suddenly changed things on him, it could make it dangerous for him, and Dorian knew that. Perhaps that was why the rogue didn’t mention it to him until now.

The fight was intense; not only were there Grey Wardens attacking them, but some of them commanded demons, and from what he could tell, not all of them were even mages. Mysterious and confusing, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it now. He used Winter’s Grasp to freeze the nearest enemies, and then jabbed at them with his staff blade a few times before smacking at them with his staff, shattering them completely before he spun toward the next onslaught of enemies, all the while keeping an eye on his comrades.

It was a good thing they brought as many as they did, he realized as he noticed the alarming amount of Grey Wardens – and demons – descending upon them. Dorian took a step back when a rage demon hurried toward him, only to nearly trip over something on the ground. Staggering, he looked down quickly and found a body on the ground. Finally looking around, taking in things he hadn’t noticed before, he realized they were fighting on the remnants of an earlier battleground; a fight had already taken place here. Had Hawke fought here? Where was he now?

He didn’t have time to think about it, though, as the rage demon was on him.

He used his ice spell again, but the rage demon was too strong; it didn’t freeze the demon like he hoped it would, only just barely slowed it down, and he quickly backtracked further to keep from the claws reaching for him. As he brought his staff around, summoning his lightning spell, and was just about to cast it, twin daggers sank into the demon’s back, and Callum appeared behind the demon, becoming visible once more. Dorian let the spell die from his lips, not wishing to injure Callum by casting that particular spell, and switched to a barrier which he let fall over the rogue as the demon spun toward its new attacker. Callum backed away, twirling his daggers deftly, luring it away from Dorian.

_Kaffas, reckless rogue._

He used his ice spell again, and slowed the demon, giving Callum enough time to slink away, cloaking again. Hoping Callum moved far enough away, Dorian electrocuted the demon, flinging spells at it with his staff as the iciness wore off and it turned back toward him again. Just as it was about to get to him, and he was backed into a wall, Callum’s daggers sank once more into the demon’s back, twisting before yanking free. The demon snarled and rounded quickly, lashing out with a clawed hand before Dorian’s barrier could land on the rogue, and Callum hit the ground hard a few feet away, rolling twice before he stopped on his side.

“ _Amatus_ ,” Dorian called, hurrying forward. The rage demon lumbered over the still form. The rage demon ignored him and swiped again at the downed figure, but why? He was already down, he didn’t pose a threat.

As soon as the clawed hand swiped, it was cut off by one of Callum’s daggers, Callum instantly springing into action the second the demon was close enough. He jumped to his feet, dodging the second swipe of a clawed hand, and rammed his second blade into the demon’s face, twisting furiously, a snarl on his own face.

The demon snarled as it died, disappearing into nothing. Callum stepped back, panting, before he wrapped an arm around his middle, wincing as he glanced at Dorian. “You okay?”

“I am well,” Dorian said. “Yourself?”

“Better armor, remember?” Callum said. “That said, that still hurt. Fuck. No blood, though. Let’s go, we’re getting left behind.”

Dorian looked around and realized Callum was correct. While they were busy with that rage demon, the others were cutting down Grey Wardens and lesser demons and shades, creating a path up the steps and in a certain direction, most likely led by Zevran and Cassandra.

They hurried to catch up to the others.

“There you are, Boss,” Bull said, having been traveling away from the others in search of them. Callum smiled at his ‘bodyguard’ and nodded.

“Here we are. What’s the situation up there?” the rogue asked.

“Bad,” The Iron Bull replied grimly. “The more Wardens we face, the more of them have demons, and the stronger they are. Blackwall helped rescue some of the Wardens who weren’t ‘into’ that sort of thing, and they joined our side and are fighting with us.”

“That’s good,” Callum said, nodding. “What about Hawke? Any sign of him?”

“The Wardens who joined our side said he’s up ahead in a losing battle against their leader guy, some man named Clarel.”

“Then we need to hurry.”

“And what of the dragon flying through the sky?” Dorian asked, because that seemed rather important. “Has it attacked anyone, do you know?”

Bull shrugged. “The Wardens didn’t say.”

“Is Corypheus here?” Callum asked.

“They didn’t say,” Bull said again.

“I suppose we’ll find out the hard way, then,” Dorian said.

“It’s always the hard way,” Callum muttered. “Just once I’d like it to be easy.”

“You’d have no fun then, Boss,” Bull told him, slapping him on the back, sending him staggering forward a few steps. Callum laughed and righted himself.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Alright, let’s go.”

As they moved to head forward, the dragon flew by, breathing fire down at them and the party ahead.

It missed, as its mighty roar and the whoosh of its wings gave it away and they had time to dive to the side, thankfully, but the fire left large chunks of the building around them falling down in massive heaps, leaving them cut off from the group ahead of them, the stairwell blocked. Dorian climbed to his feet, brushing ash and debris from his clothing even as he winced at the rough treatment rolling down a few stairs had caused him, and glanced around for his comrades. He found Callum next to him and Bull a few feet away.

“Everyone alright?” he asked.

Callum pushed to his feet a little slower than before; he had to be aching, as he was sore and exhausted before this battle even began, needing a stamina potion to keep moving even then. Dorian rifled through his bag for another, knowing the rogue would need it soon, even though it wasn’t wise to keep using them, but it was less wise to crash from a lack of energy mid-fight once that potion wore off and his lack of reserves let itself be known. This fight didn’t appear to be ending any time soon. He had another on hand, just in case; hopefully they wouldn’t need it, but he knew otherwise.

“I’m good,” Callum said. “You guys?”

“I’m ready to go dragon hunting since you left me behind last time,” Bull said.

“I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?” the rogue groaned. “Dorian?”

“I am well,” he said. “And you should be thankful you weren’t there, Iron Bull. It was a gruesome fight.”

“Sounds like fun to me,” Iron Bull said. “And where was I? Oh yes. Not there.”

“Sweet Andraste,” Callum muttered. “I swear I’ll bring you next time.”

“Is there going to be a next time?” Dorian asked.

“Maybe, probably, did you see the dragon in the sky? I mean, I can’t predict the future, but, you know, he does enjoy dragon fighting and there _is_ a dragon attacking us,” Callum said, smirking at him.

Dorian rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath about reckless rogues.

“One of these days you’re going to get tired of muttering about rogues,” Callum said in a sing-song voice as they walked around, looking for another way up.

“One of these days,” Dorian countered, “you’ll give me a reason not to do it.”

“Maybe, but then you’ll get bored.”

“I could use some boredom after all of this.”

“You say that now but then you’ll just be complaining about a lack of action.”

“Boss has a point.”

“Don’t be siding with him; they’ll be no living with him,” Dorian said.

“Don’t side with Dorian,” Callum said to Bull. “If you do, then he’ll just start talking about his precious _floors_ , and then where will we be?”

“Not this again,” Dorian muttered, looking at the walls. It might be possible for Callum to scale them with how much he used to enjoy climbing along the Storm Coast when they were searching for Hawke, but he himself was not the best climber, and Bull was too bulky and heavy to scale the walls, he feared. So, that was out; they’d have to find another way.

“Yes, this again,” Callum mocked, akin to a child, easily cutting down a lower-tier demon which came at him, lured to him by the sound of his voice. The area was otherwise eerily quiet, which left Dorian frowning. Bodies rested along the floor; had Hawke and his group been this way? He caught sight of Callum noticing this detail as well; perhaps he was having similar thoughts.

“Do you two always bicker like this?” Bull asked.

“Yes/No,” was the response as they answered in unison.

Callum laughed; it was a nice sound to hear, Dorian had to admit. He didn’t laugh as much as he used to, which was a shame.

“Yes and no,” Callum clarified.

“ _Kaffas,_ ” Dorian said as two demons appeared, two Wardens behind them.

“Still don’t understand you,” Callum said. “But I get the gist.”

Dorian turned to say something to him, but the rogue was already gone, cloaked and everything. He muttered to himself under his breath again, flinging a spell at the closest target even as he watched twin daggers sink into the furthest one, one of the Wardens. Bull charged headlong into the second demon, swinging with his double-edged axe with all his might.

They took care of the two demons and one of the Wardens, but the second Warden they kept alive. Callum stood over the downed Warden, injured with a leg wound, and waved a dagger in front of his face.

“What’s going on here?” he asked. “I want simple answers and I want them fast, so I suggest you start talking if you don’t want to end up like your friend here. I’m tired and I’ve had a shitty week and a long day, so… and I don’t hear you talking… well…?”

The man glared up at him.

Callum sighed. “The hard way, then?”

The made a sharp gesture with his dagger, as though to cut into the man again as he had to down him, but stopped just short of touching his skin. It was enough, as the man yelped and said, “okay, okay! I’ll talk!”

“Good. I was getting worried for a second.”

“The Elder One gave us power,” the Warden said. “Clarel worked it out with him, made a deal with him. Clarel allowed us to raise a demon army so that we can march into the Deep Roads and kill the Old Gods while they sleep, since a Blight is created when darkspawn find an Old God and corrupt it, turning it into an archdemon. If we go there and kill all of the Old Gods while they sleep, we can make sure we never have any Blights ever again. Isn’t that great?” Enthusiasm entered his voice. “We’ll never have another Blight! We’ll never have to worry about the Blight again! All we have to do is follow the Elder One!”

“Oh, so _this_ is where the demon army comes from,” Callum muttered, “ _great_.”

“So you know about it?” the Warden asked.

“Unfortunately.”

“And did it ever occur to you,” Dorian said sharply, “that the Elder One is a darkspawn himself?”

“He’s not like the others,” the Warden said, shaking his head. “He controls the Blight and isn’t controlled by it, like the other mindless darkspawn. He can actually talk and think for himself. It’s different. He’s different, and he gave us power and a way to stop Blights from ever happening again.”

The three of them shared a look.

“And what of the dragon? Not an archdemon, then?” Dorian asked. He had to admit, they all had their own doubts about whether or not it was an archdemon; they had seen no darkspawn other than Corypheus himself, after all, when typically if there was an archdemon, there were hordes upon hordes of darkspawn uniting to spread across Thedas, but still – what else could that dragon be, that it worked so well with Corypheus?

“No,” the man said. “Otherwise we’d be hearing the song.”

“Wait – you’re not?” Callum asked, shocked, a worried frown on his face.

“We were,” the Warden clarified. “We were hearing it, and we were worried we were all having our Calling at the same time. It frightened us, but the Elder One said he gave that song to us as a warning. A sign. A sign of his arrival, and a warning that if we didn’t submit to his deal, that more Blights would continue to consume the world over and over, but if we took his deal we could stop that from happening. We could stop the world from ever having another Blight. Clarel was smart to take the offer.”

“Smart,” Dorian echoed.

“Coerced, more like,” Bull said, shaking his head.

“And if Clarel had refused?” Callum asked.

“Then Thedas would have suffered more Blights,” the man said.

“You are a fool,” Dorian muttered.

“How am I foolish?” the man snapped, glaring at him. “Because I believe in our cause? Because I believe in something worth fighting for?”

“You believe in a madman,” Dorian said, shaking his head.

A sneer twisted the man’s face. He moved as though to push himself to his feet but stopped when the tip of Callum’s dagger touched his breastplate.

“Now, now,” Callum said, “let’s not be hasty. You look tired. Sit still, and talk.”

“I don’t need the likes of you questioning my beliefs,” the man spat. “If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with.”

“Who said anything about killing you?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'stealth problem' mentioned is something that happened to me (kind of) when I was playing Callum a few days ago. I was stealthed (I hated the stealth in Origins, never used it at all, but I constantly use it in Inquisition) and went to attack a rebel Templar guy in the Hinterlands early on and when I did he spun to hit Cassandra but instead of hitting her hit me, who he didn't even know was there, so I stealth took a hit for someone xD So I was like "geez, what would happen if that happened in a story" or "what would happen if a comrade accidentally hit you when you were stealthed" and whatnot, and so that's the conversation (kind of) that happens here. I might write a story about it, but I don't know.
> 
> I do have a few one-shots planned, and today even thought of a possible sequel involving the time-amulet (again) but also another type of mysterious magic. We'll see how it goes though. Thoughts?


	44. Here Lies the Abyss part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things aren't exactly what they seem at Adamant, Bull learns why Callum's nickname is 'Dicey', the dragon flying overhead can be kind of annoying, and one moment can take an eternity. Or, bad things happen when your corner yourself on a bridge with a dragon on the enemy's side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I can't wait until I'm done with 'Here Lies the Abyss', because I don't like doing game scenes. I mean sometimes it's fine, but then I feel constricted to game dialogue/game scenes/game plot and that's the whole reason I didn't want to get into Inquisition in the first place. So. Ugh. Like one more chapter of this, hopefully. Then I can get out of Here Lies the Abyss and hopefully into something more creative. And I'm excited for the sequel (yes there will be a sequel) where it's all just my ideas, not game stuff. I also have one-shots planned, that take place during this story, after, and before this story, so xD Some are stories that might happen but might not be canon (depending on this story ends, because I can't completely commit to anything, because I can say 'oh Callum totally didn't trip and break his ankle in the final battle' but then when I write it later Callum's like 'nah man I got this' and trips and breaks his ankle and welp, now I'm a liar, aren't I? So... yeah, might happen, might not happen, if they take place in the future. So. Yeah. Anyway. I'll let you know in the one-shot if that's the case.
> 
> ALSO - this is now part of a series.

Chapter Forty-Three: Here Lies the Abyss (Part 2)

 

“Walk faster.”

“Walk fas-? You stabbed me!” the Warden said bitterly, shooting Callum a glare as he leaned heavily against said rogue, one armed wrapped around Callum’s shoulders.

“Semantics,” the rogue replied.

“I still say this would go faster if you let me carry him,” Bull said.

“I agree,” Dorian said.

Callum rolled his eyes, hobbling along with the injured Warden. “I need Bull freed up to take care of any incoming Wardens or demons who might try and attack us.”

“Then let me take him,” Dorian offered.

_Like I trust him anywhere near you, Dori._

“I got him,” Callum said, shaking his head.

“The mage didn’t stab me,” the Warden muttered. “I’d rather walk with him.”

“No one asked you,” Callum snapped. “Now quit complaining before I stab you again.”

“Why are we bringing him, again?” Dorian asked.

“He is a loud one,” Bull said. “At least break his jaw.”

“ _What_?” the Warden squeaked, staring at the qunari in horror.

“We’ve been over this already; he knows the way and he refused to just tell us, and he might lie to us anyway, so we’re taking him with us,” Callum said, rolling his eyes. Honestly, it was like having a group of bickering children. Except with children he could at least just put them in timeout. Was he this bad with his siblings? Was this what his parents had to endure? But thinking about them left a hollow knot in his stomach. “Plus, his brethren might be less inclined to attack us if he’s with us.”

“A shield, then,” Bull said. “Somehow I don’t think they’ll mind if they kill their own.”

“The Grey Wardens used to be better than this,” Dorian sighed.

“Used to be,” Callum agreed. The weight against him slowed. “Hey, keep up. Walk faster.”

“It hurts,” the guy complained.

“Loud and annoying,” Bull muttered.

“How are you to fight whilst lugging him around?” Dorian asked.

“I’ll drop him if it comes to that, shall I?”

“Throwing him down would be better,” Bull told him. “But then he will just crawl away.”

“Not very fast,” Dorian said.

“If he tries it I’ll just have to stab him again.”

“I’m beginning to see why the dwarf calls you Dicey,” Iron Bull said with a laugh. “I like it.”

“I am right here, you know,” the Warden groaned. “I won’t crawl away. Don’t stab me again.”

“Smart man,” Callum said. “Finally. Now where are these blighted stairs you mentioned?”

“Around here somewhere.”

“You don’t even _know_?”

“They’re hidden stairs!” the Warden argued, tossing him another glare. “And I’m in pain!”

“He’s so whiney,” Bull said. “Let me break his jaw.”

“If there is to be jaw breaking,” Dorian said, “perhaps it should not be you who does it. You would most likely break his entire face or head, and then where would we be?”

Callum snickered even as the Warden gasped. “Dori has a point.”

“Of course I do. One of us has to think clearly.”

“I’m having some pretty clear thoughts of who I should punch, Vint.”

“You could try, but I can assure you, you will not get very far,” Dorian said, twirling his staff.

The Iron Bull laughed again. “You’ve got some spunk, Vint. I’ll give you that.”

“Are you people always like this?” the Warden asked, clearly wondering if he’d been captured by crazy people.

Callum jostled him a little, leaving him gasping. “Hush, you, and help me find these hidden stairs. There’s a party we’re late to already.”

“A dance with death, more like,” came a familiar voice.

Callum looked up and grinned at the familiar figure perched in a windowsill. “Emry, good to see you. Where are the stairs? How goes the fighting? How is everything?”

The elf grimaced. “The fighting is bad; we need you up here. Hawke is outnumbered, even with everyone else. The dragon is attacking, too.”

“Yes, _finally_ ,” Bull said, excited. “Where are the stairs, elf?”

“That way,” Emry said, gesturing. “In the shadows along the far wall, behind the tower of boxes. Hidden.”

“See? Not so hard,” Callum said, throwing a glare at the Warden attached to his shoulders.

“A prisoner, Cal?” Emry asked.

“He’s been a pain,” Callum said with a sigh. “But I guess I don’t really need him anymore, and he’ll only slow us down.”

“You said you wouldn’t kill me,” the Warden accused.

“That’s not exactly what I said. I just said I never said anything about killing you, at the time. But you’re right, I’m not going to kill you. But I’m not bringing you with me, either.”

“Then what are you-”

He never got the chance to finish his sentence. The handle of one of Callum’s daggers slammed into his forehead, and he hit the ground a second later, unconscious. Callum let him drop and stepped away from him, nodding up at Emry.

“Is the way clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

The trio maneuvered toward the tower of boxes Emry mentioned, and found the hidden staircase. Finally they made it up to the next platform, and on equal footing with Emry, who stood waiting for them. Callum smiled at his friend and nodded for him to lead the way to the rest of the battle. Emry pulled his bow from his shoulder, and Callum did the same with his daggers, sensing a fight nearby.

Emry began leading the way, stepping over fallen bodies, thankfully none of them Inquisition forces.

They walked in silence for a time, until eventually they came across the fighting. It was a massive battle; fallen Grey Wardens littered the ground, and demons fought the Inquisition forces, but Callum focused his attention on a mage standing against a warrior who stood in front of a dragon, the mage standing with Hawke and Fenris. The mage appeared wounded and dying, but still stood standing, ready to fight, and Hawke looked a little worse for wear. At his side stood Zevran, a human Warden Callum recognized as Alistair from when he met Theron before, and another elf in full armor, with a mallet as his weapon of choice. The Warden. The Hero of Ferelden.

Theron.

Callum hurried toward them, the others quickly following after him as they maneuvered through the battlefield. Theron turned at his approach, spinning with his mallet to attack any new threat, but stopped just short of ramming his weapon into Callum’s face, his red-brown eyes widening in surprise, pale face spattered with enemy blood save for a fresh wound along his right cheek, which leaked a fresh trail slowly toward his chin.

“Ayden?” the elf asked, frowning.

Callum smiled wearily. “Right, about that. My name is actually Callum. But yes, it’s me. Hello, again. Thanks for not smashing my face in.”

“What?” Theron asked, frown deepening, brows furrowing in confusion. He looked past Callum at Dorian, Bull, and Emry. “What’s going on?”

Zevran stepped next to him. “Ah, yes. This is the Herald everyone is talking about – the one I mentioned, yes?”

“The Herald,” Theron repeated. “Ayden. I mean – Callum. The Herald?”

“So they tell me,” Callum said. “But we can discuss that later. Right now, what’s going on here? Is Corypheus here? Who is that?” He gestured at the enemy mage Hawke and the other mage were fighting, still.

“That is Magister Erimond,” Theron said darkly, bitterly. “He seemed to think it was a good idea to ally himself with this Elder One, this _Corypheus_. As for Corypheus, I have seen no sign of him, but Hawke tells me the dragon is his.”

“Yes, there is that.”

“He deceived Warden-Commander Clarel into making a deal with Corypheus,” Theron continued, shaking his head sadly. Callum could see why this was hard for him; Theron believed in the Grey Wardens, worked so hard for them, stood for them and everything – and now they’d been reduced to this. After everything he’d done, everything he’d sacrificed, for them. “Hawke and I spoke with Clarel, convinced her of how wrong Erimond was, how wrong this all is, but she’s been injured, and now the dragon is here, and I fear we are losing the battle.”

“We’re here to help,” Callum assured him.

“Forgive me, but I don’t see how a few fighters, even the Herald of Andraste, is going to sway this battle in our favor,” Theron said with an apologetic twist of his lips.

Callum didn’t know himself, but he wouldn’t let them fail without a fight. “We’ll win,” he said, “or we’ll die trying.”

Theron nodded.

“I need a little help over here!” Hawke snapped as the dragon roared, lunging at him and the mage, Clarel.

The enemy mage, now identified as Erimond, lunged at them as well, seemingly working in tandem with the dragon much like Corypheus did before, much to Callum’s annoyance. Callum grimaced and hurried forward, slashing at the dragon’s gaping maw just as it tried to snap shut on Hawke’s retreating form. The dragon snarled and turned its attention to Callum before Dorian’s spells slammed into it. The dragon shook its massive head, backing away with a snarl, as Clarel’s spells slammed into it as well. With a flap of its oversized wings, the dragon took to the air.

Erimond flung spells at them, breaking their focus on the dragon. More Wardens also charged from the shadows – too many for them.

“Fall back,” Clarel said around a groan. “The bridge… we can go there… There’s supplies there. Lyrium potions, healing potions, weapons, and only one way for them to come at us.”

Meaning their enemies couldn’t surround them as easily. If they could lead Erimond there, and a bulk of the forces… perhaps this was still winnable.

“Let’s do it,” Hawke said. “Drink this, though.” He handed Clarel a lesser healing potion; it wouldn’t do too much for her, but it would sooth the pain and at least patch up some of her wounds, allowing her to move a little quicker. She thanked him and tilted the bottle to her lips, downing the potion.

“Here, _Amatus_ ,” Dorian said, thrusting a flask into his hand.

Callum glanced down at the stamina potion. “You know I hate these,” he muttered, eying the yellow liquid distastefully.

“I feel you’ll need it for the battle ahead, and the old one should be wearing off soon.”

He wasn’t wrong, Callum knew, but he hated taking stamina potions. His mind was already wired from the last one, but Dorian was right; he would be crashing from it soon, especially with how much fighting he’d already done, and how much he still had to do, especially if there was a dragon involved. Thankfully there had been no sign of Corypheus here, only his dragon.

He sighed, and downed the potion. It left a foul, lingering taste in his mouth. The kick was almost instantaneous – a spark in his mind, spiders crawling along his skin, an itch he couldn’t scratch. He hated it. He rolled his shoulders and grimaced, dropping the empty flask to the ground before he stepped over it.

“Fenris,” Hawke said, glancing at the elf who was his faithful, loyal shadow, “I need you to go tell the others the plan.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Fenris said, eyes flashing dangerously.

“You’re the quickest,” Hawke said, “and I trust you to deliver the message. Please.”

Fenris’ lips pursed into a thin white line, but he gave a terse nod nevertheless. “Do not do anything foolish.” He looked at Callum. “Do not _let_ him do anything foolish.”

“I’ll keep him safe,” Callum said, and then realized exactly what it was he was promising, as Fenris nodded and ran off to do as he was told.

Fenris was entrusting Callum with Hawke’s life, a task he did not do lightly.

_Oh boy. He’ll kill me if I don’t deliver._

Oh well. He’d kill himself if he didn’t deliver. Hawke was his friend; he wouldn’t let anything happen to him. He couldn’t.

“Go with him, Zevran,” Theron said. “The two of you can make it through the battlefield, and you’re quite fast yourself.”

“But, _mi amor-_ ” Zevran started, frowning at Theron, upset with being sent away, or left behind, again.

“Don’t argue with me,” Theron said, shaking his head. “Just please, I need you to do this. We’ll deal with things here.”

“ _Bastardo imprudente_ ,” Zevran cursed, but nodded tightly. “Very well, I will go. Be safe, _mi amor._ ”

With that, he hurried after Fenris, and disappeared from view.

“Was that wise?” Hawke asked.

“He’s safer with them,” Theron said.

Hawke released a breath. “Yeah.”

Callum glanced at Dorian out of the corner of his eye.

“If you try to send me away, I might be forced to use drastic measures,” the mage said calmly.

“I was only going to say thank you for the stamina potion.”

“Indeed. In that case, you are welcome.”

Erimond was still a contender, though, and the dragon was still in the sky. Erimond could only be occupied by Clarel’s magic for so long; he burst free of her spells and charged at them with a glowing red spirit blade, and the dragon rained fire down on them. They dove out of the way of the fire blast, and barely dodged the charging warrior as well. Emry shot arrows at the Magister while Theron and Bull surged forward, swinging their two-handed weapons harshly. Dorian threw a barrier over the warriors and Callum slipped into the shadows, cloaking himself, while Hawke flung a few spells of his own.

He sank his daggers into Erimond’s unguarded back, only to be flung back when his blades made contact, by some unseen force. Erimond laughed, and a demon appeared – a massive demon, with large, clawed hands already swiping at Callum as he uncloaked. He staggered back, tripping over his feet ungracefully, and rolled away from the claws ready to tear him in half. A barrier landed over him, and a barrage of energy slammed into the demon, but it was not enough to stop it, only stagger it very briefly.

“You must be the Herald of Andraste,” Erimond said gleefully, rounding on Callum just as the demon did. “The Elder One warned me about you, said you would try to interfere with his plans. I must admit, I had expected you to accompany the Inquisitor, and was a little disappointed when you did not. Perhaps you are not the threat we anticipated. Disappointed, really.”

“Sorry, but I’m not here to please you,” Callum said, backing away from the demon.

Erimond lifted his left hand, and crackling red energy surrounded it. In the same instant, Callum’s left palm sparked to life with its own green energy, and agony ripped up his wrist into his arm, leaving him staggering, thoughts torn away from him due to the white-hot pain. He nearly collapsed to his knees but managed to remain standing, as the demon continued coming at him. The barrier fell away, as barriers died away quickly enough even without being hit, and despite the hail of arrows hitting the demon from the back, it raised a clawed hand to strike him. With the pain leaving him frozen, all he could do was stand there and watch.

“No!”

“Boss!”

It was Theron who saved him, by sliding between him and the demon, already swinging at the demon with his mallet. He caught the brunt of the claws, but had far superior armor compared to Callum, as a warrior. Nevertheless, the demon’s mighty claws tore through the armor as though it were nothing, leaving blood spattering the air, and tossing Theron aside even as his weapon made contact with the creature. The elf went flying, only to smack into the far wall, and slide unceremoniously to the floor to land in an unmoving heap, mallet forgotten at his side.

“Theron!” Alistair cried, running toward his fallen comrade’s side.

Callum stared, uncomprehending.

That was the Hero of Ferelden, tossed aside like he was nothing, and all because he protected Callum. Because of this blighted mark on his hand, because Erimond was using it against him, because it hurt so much he couldn’t move, because-

He snarled and felt the mark flare to life, this time because of him.

He didn’t know what he was doing, just knew he was acting purely on instinct. Purely on emotion, on anger.

This needed to stop.

The demon moved toward him again.

Erimond laughed smugly. “Look how your Herald trembles before me; Corypheus gave me the power to defeat you.” His hand glowed a deep red.

The pain intensified, but Callum would not give him the satisfaction of crumpling to his knees. No, he would not fall. He would not suffer anymore. He would not let them win. He would avenge Theron, who hadn’t moved yet.

As the demon raised its clawed hand once more, and a barrier fell over Callum as a barrage of attacks slammed into the demon, attempting to distract it from its target, Callum raised his left hand, palm glowing with green light. It hurt, fighting against the onslaught coming from the red glow, but he pressed onward anyway, gritting his teeth determinedly. The green crackled and glowed further, and a bolt of energy shot from his palm, heading toward Erimond who stopped his smug laughter to release a pained grunt of his own as the red glow died down, mingling with the green.

Erimond’s pained cry left the demon turning to face its master. The demon did not enjoy being tied to someone, and being told what to do against its will, it seemed; it lumbered toward Erimond, whose control over the beast had wavered thanks to the two similar marks competing for power, and as Callum added more of his green energy into his mental, instinctual attack, and Erimond sank to his knees, the demon raised a clawed hand against his master. Erimond looked up at the demon, eyes wide.

“No,” he croaked, “what are you doing? I command you to stop!”

“This is why you don’t toy with demons,” Dorian muttered, suddenly next to Callum, grabbing him by the arm. “ _Amatus_ , are you well? Callum?”

He wanted to answer Dorian, but it was though he were in a trance; he could not break free from the power, the energy, the anger. The anger brought on by Erimond, by Theron’s still form. He could still see him out of the corner of his eye, still see Alistair hovering over him, protecting him from other demons and Grey Wardens. Callum did, however, shake Dorian’s hold off, as it was distracting and he needed to focus, otherwise he might lose control of whatever he was doing, and hurt Dorian. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He kept his focus, channeled whatever this energy was only toward Erimond, and kept him unstable enough that the demon swiped at its master.

The dragon roared overhead, clearly upset at this turn of events. Could dragons think? It was an upsetting thought.

“Get down,” Dorian hissed, before knocking into him.

A second later, fire rained down upon them, in the spot they used to occupy. Callum’s focus ruined, his hand stopped crackling, the pain died away, and the demon stopped attacking Erimond. It was enough to give them the time they needed, though.

Dorian dragged him to his feet.

“We need to get to the bridge, Boss,” Bull said.

Callum nodded, drawing in a slow breath. “Right. Yeah, let’s do that.”

With any luck, Fenris and Zevran had already told the others about this and they were headed that way by now. Or, at least, hopefully some of them were by now. They did have a lot of them to tell, after all.

“Quickly, let’s go,” Hawke said.

Alistair approached them, dragging Theron with him. The elf was awake, at least, but moving slowly, still jarred from the attack. He seemed to be regaining his wits, though, and Alistair was currently shoving a healing potion to his lips. As soon as they reached the bridge they’d have more supplies. They just needed to make it there.

“You good to go?” Hawke asked Theron.

“I’ll make it,” Theron said.

“I’ve got him,” Alistair said.

“Alright, then let’s hurry, while Erimond is distracted.”

xXx

It was battle getting to the bridge, and by the time they arrived they were in dire need of the supplies promised to them. Clarel led them toward said supplies, and they quickly restocked just as the dragon flew by overhead. Dorian looked up, grimacing; this close, the dragon looked truly enormous as it flew above them, its underbelly visible in a slightly lighter shade of color than the rest of it, its massive wings flapping slightly as it turned slowly, rounding on them to breathe fire upon them. They dove out of the way, and the supply area went up in flames. It was good they restocked when they did, on a few things at any rate, but they didn’t have time to look around properly for other things, or even have a moment to breathe.

Erimond burst onto the bridge behind them, and there was nowhere to run, but that was part of the allure of the bridge, Dorian recalled. There was only one way for their enemies to attack them, but that also meant there was no escape for them. It was fight or die, and he didn’t particularly like those options. He threw a barrier over himself and Callum, just before the rogue cloaked and left him as more Grey Wardens and demons walked onto the bridge, following Erimond.

At first they’d thought Clarel was the one who sided with Corypheus, but it was clear now that it was truly Erimond who was to blame. He had been manipulating Clarel, whispering doubts into her ear, making her desperate for a way to stop Blights from happening as, at the time, all of the Wardens had been terrified because they’d all feared they were having their Callings at the same time. They’d worried if there soon wouldn’t be any Wardens left at all to face a Blight, and wanted to put a stop to any further Blights while they still had the chance, and in came Erimond with a way to make it happen, influenced by Corypheus. Clarel accepted the offer, seeing no other option at the time, but it was clear she regretted it now, since she fought on their side and not Erimond’s.

Dorian would be able to summon more sympathy if there was not a dragon spitting fire at them sporadically, or demons rushing at them, or Grey Wardens attempting to kill them even though the Warden-Commander was on their side. As it was, though, he had very little sympathy to spare; Clarel made her bed. Hindsight was twenty-twenty, they said; regret was also twenty-twenty. It was easy to look back at one’s choices and know they were wrong, but feeling guilty did not make things right. At least, he admitted, Clarel was fighting with them, attempting to fix things, but the damage had already been done and he honestly didn’t know if there was anything ‘fixing’ something like this.

He lost sight of Callum for a while, and tried not to let it bother him. Instead he focused on the demons and Wardens near him, and threw barriers over himself and allies nearby; Hawke did the same, while Clarel wandered off somewhere. He didn’t keep a close eye on her, too preoccupied with the fight at hand. He also didn’t know where Erimond went, though he looked for him through the battlefield briefly, only to have his attention dragged elsewhere when a demon snuck up on Emry, who was shooting arrows across the way. He froze the demon, but the ice spell didn’t last long; it rarely did against rage demons. Emry turned at the sound of ice shattering, and realized he was in danger. He backed up, reaching for another arrow which he quickly notched and loosed with an ease that came from years of steady practice.

The arrow hit the demon square in the face, but all it seemed to do was make it angry. The demon smacked the broken arrow shaft away and hurried across the ground toward the archer. Emry stepped backward quickly, careful of his footing even as the fighting raged on around him. Dorian used an energy barrage against the demon, homing orbs of energy seeking out the target. They slammed into the demon’s back, slowing it and injuring it, but it wasn’t enough to kill it. Emry fired at it again with his arrows, and Iron Bull came seemingly out of nowhere like a charging bull, ramming into the demon, doing the final bit of damage to kill it. The demon disappeared in a whiff of smoke and ash, and Dorian took a moment to breathe as he scanned the battlefield.

He found Callum across the way, near the back of the bridge, fighting with Theron and Hawke. They seemed to be holding their own, but nevertheless Dorian watched as Emry and Bull hurried to join them. Just beyond them, at the very edge of the bridge, beyond which was the chasm they would fall into if they were not careful, the reason for which this bridge was made, fought Clarel and Erimond in a one-on-one battle.

The dragon swooped in as Dorian watched.

He opened his mouth to warn them, but it was too late.

He watched it all as though in slow motion.

Clarel looked up and saw the dragon first. She was injured, on the ground with Erimond above her, ready to deliver the killing blow. Callum and Theron were hurrying toward her to help, but they would not get there in time. Hawke was readying a spell; he might succeed in staggering Erimond, but the dragon posed another problem entirely.

Clarel saw the dragon before the others.

She didn’t even hesitate.

She lifted her hand, summoned a spell, and the whole area exploded just as the dragon swooped down low. That portion of the bridge exploded, killing herself and Erimond, and wounding the dragon, forcing it away from them and back into the air with an angry snarl. It did not turn back around for them, but kept on flying away.

Callum and Theron were thrown back by the blast, rolling several feet before they came to a stop. The bridge trembled; Dorian felt it from where he stood, a few hundred feet away from them. It trembled, and then it started to crack.

Then it crumbled.

It started to fall where Clarel had been, and progressed toward Dorian but he knew it would not reach him. Somehow, he knew.

That didn’t matter.

He hurried forward, Callum’s name on his lips but the breath no longer behind the words, lost somewhere behind the sudden lump in his throat as he realized what was going to happen. He raced forward, hoping he’d be fast enough, praying he’d get there in time because if he didn’t-

_Kaffas, no._

Callum and Theron were back on their feet and were running away from the falling ground, but they weren’t going to make it. Other had already fallen; Alistair had fallen, just behind Theron, and Hawke just behind Callum, and Bull ran just next to Callum along with Emry. They weren’t going to make it.

_He’s not going to make it._

_This is it; this is where I finally lose him for good._

The thought appeared unbidden, but resonated through him like a punch through his very being, nevertheless.

“ _Amatus-_ ” he choked, reaching, trying, hoping-

The ground gave way.

The group fell.

Callum fell.

For one split second, copper-green eyes connected with his own, and then he was gone, ripped away by gravity.

The whole event lasted less than a minute, but felt like an eternity. They were seconds Dorian would never forget.

There was shimmering green light in the void below, somewhere.

By the time Dorian made it to the edge and crashed to his knees, looking down into the void, the light was gone and all he saw was darkness, far below and vast. No one could survive that fall, not even the Herald of Andraste, Inquisitor, and Hero of Ferelden.

They were dead.

They were all dead.

Callum was dead.

 


	45. Here Lies the Abyss part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callum remembers what he forgot, a Nightmare descends upon them, and Dorian struggles to make sense of what happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I can't wait until I'm done with Here Lies the Abyss. Ugh. I was hoping this would be the last chapter of it, but it was getting pretty long, so I guess one more chapter, then I can do a little more free-range stuff. Ugh. I almost wish I had ended this story after Callum disappeared after the blood mage was killed, and just did one-shots and short stories about Inquisition instead of continuing the story because now everything has to constantly connect and ugh. It's frustrating. Truly. Like maybe I just wanna do a scene between Dorian and Callum but I can't because, hey, then I'd have to incorporate it in here at some point and maybe it doesn't mesh with this story too well or something. Ugh. I have a lot of regrets with this story. Oh well. Too late to change anything now, apart from completely deleting it... which... I guess isn't entirely off the menu. Not like anyone's really reading it anymore xD So I guess I could do that. Huh. Maybe.
> 
> PS: This one has a lot of game dialogue and scenes in it. Sorry. I try to steer clear of that when I can, but it was necessary here.

Chapter Forty-Four: Here Lies the Abyss (Part Three)

 

It all happened so fast.

He remembered falling, and Dorian’s distraught face – a look he hoped never to see again – and then pure adrenaline. He’d acted purely on instinct, and as the ground rushed up to meet him, death rapidly approaching with his friends all around him, he held his palm out and the mark reacted, crackling to life, and suddenly it was so green.

Green all around him. It swallowed him whole, and that was it.

Now he was floating, with the ground inches from his face.

It took reality a few seconds to catch up. He reached out with his finger to touch the ground; was this real? Surely it wasn’t. He was dreaming. He’d splattered across the ground and he was dead, but it was taking his mind a moment to catch up.

Then the moment shattered, and he collapsed onto the ground. He groaned, the breath the knocked out of him as the others hit the ground as well. He looked around, and realized they were all there with him – Theron, Hawke, Iron Bull, Alistair and Emry. They were all here, but _where_ , exactly, was _here_?

Callum looked around. It was all so green – green and foggy and dripping, real and yet not real, shadows walking past him before they disappeared. He gasped as something walked through him, a cold chill washing over him, seeping into his bones, only to see the green outline of a crying woman keeping walking forward, face buried in her hands like she didn’t even see him. She vanished three steps later, as though she were never there. He shivered, and glanced at the others. Emry stared at other shadows, posture tense and rigid, his bow grasped tightly in his hands, notched and ready, but he couldn’t hurt shadows. He hesitated, and glanced at Callum.

“What is this?” the elf asked. “What’s going on? What happened? Where are we?”

Callum shook his head; sadly, he didn’t have any answers.

“It’s the Fade,” Hawke said, stunned as he, too, looked around. “I’ve seen it in my dreams; but I’ve never actually _been_ here, physically. We _are_ here physically, aren’t we?”

“Feels like it,” Theron said grimly. “Feels wrong, like we shouldn’t be here.”

“You shouldn’t be able to physically enter the Fade; only in dreams, or have your spirit enter through a ritual,” Hawke said, frowning. “This is wrong.”

“Your mark did this,” Bull said, gesturing at Callum’s hand. “That glowy thing you do, you did it when we fell, and now we’re here.”

“I don’t even know what I did,” Callum said, looking at his hand with a scowl. “It was pure instinct; we were falling, and… and I just reacted. I don’t know what I did. How do I get us out?” This he directed at Hawke; he was the mage, here, so surely he knew, right? And surely if he got them here, he could get them out. Right?

Hawke stared at him. “I’m flattered you think I hold all the answers, Callum, but I’m afraid this time I’m stumped. I don’t know what you did, let alone how to reverse it. That mark is foreign to me, as it is to you.”

“Great,” Callum sighed, letting his hand drop back to his side. “So… what do we do now, then? Are we just… stuck here, forever?” He winced. “Shit. They probably think we fell. Dorian. He watched us fall. He probably thinks we’re dead.”

“He’s probably having a raging fit over it, too,” Hawke agreed. “We need to get out of here, and back to everyone.” By the look in his eyes, Callum knew he was thinking about Fenris. That left him wincing again, because he promised Fenris he’d look after Hawke, and what happened? They both fell into a chasm and now they were stuck in the Fade.

Great.

“Well,” he said, sighing heavily, “I’m open to ideas.”

Everyone looked around uncertainly.

“This part of the Fade is unfamiliar to me,” Hawke said. “But it’s not as though I travel through it willingly in my dreams, like Solas does. The Fade looks different, too; nothing like it does when I visit in dreams. Is this how it looked when you saw it last?”

“I don’t know,” Callum said, if not a little bitterly. “I still don’t remember anything that happened at the Conclave, or the last time I did anything like this.”

Because it had happened once before; he had entered the Fade physically before, at the Conclave. People had seen him emerge physically from the Fade, so there had to be a way to do it, he just couldn’t remember it.

It would be helpful if they had Solas with them, but sadly he was not here. Callum and Solas got along well enough, when they spoke, but they tended to keep clear of each other. Solas and Hawke probably spoke more often than the rogue and the rift mage did. It wasn’t that Callum had anything against Solas, it was just… Every time they spoke, Solas’ gaze seemed drawn to the mark, or he brought it up in some way, and Callum didn’t enjoy thinking about it too much, all the time. He preferred to forget about it if he could, and Solas never had new answers regarding the mark anyway. He appreciated the fact Solas kept the mark from killing him after the Conclave, of course, and he valued Solas’ knowledge, but…

He’d have to remedy this, he decided, if he ever made it out of the Fade. Solas had helped him a great deal; he shouldn’t avoid the guy simply because he reminded him of the mark, of the Anchor. A lot of things, and a lot of people, reminded him of the Anchor. Dorian often spoke of it, asked him about it, if it ached or something, and he didn’t avoid Dorian because of it.

_Dorian._

He sighed softly, recalling that look the necromancer gave him as he fell. He needed to get out of here.

“Maybe there is a way out,” Hawke said suddenly. “Erimond and Clarel were working on the ritual before we interrupted; Clarel was going to join Erimond. She’d already taken a life, but had not bound a demon to her yet. She was uncertain, but willing. Once we interrupted she turned on Erimond. But a rift was created nevertheless, to summon a demon for her to control. Erimond said it was powerful. So we’ll need to watch out for that, but that rift should still be active since you weren’t around to close it. Perhaps we can get out that way. It should hopefully be nearby; it was only in the main hall.”

Callum nodded. “Alright, sounds like a plan. Any idea where that might be, from here?”

Hawke shook his head.

Great. And everything seemed green here, so just looking for the familiar green glow of the rifts wasn’t going to help.

He looked around, attempting to discern brightness. After a moment he went with his gut feeling; it seemed brighter off to the right, so he started walking that way, and the others followed after him.

“I dislike the Fade,” Theron finally said, after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence.

“Oh?” Callum asked, thankful someone was talking. He glanced over his shoulder at the elf to find him scowling at the green-tinged rocks creating the landscape around them. “Any particular reason?”

“I got trapped there, once, thanks to a sloth demon,” Theron said, grimacing. “It made me so tired, and Zev, Wynne, Alistair and I collapsed. It was like this… weird… out of body experience. It’s hard to explain. Everything was fuzzy at the edges but also clear. There but not there, real and not real. Am I making sense?”

“In a weird way, yeah,” Callum said. Theron almost reminded him of Cole, there for a minute. “Sounds… ugh. Doesn’t sound fun. How’d you get out?”

“I had to kill several demons on several islands to finally get to the sloth demon on his own island,” Theron said. “It was strange, and difficult. Eventually we escaped and woke up, but that’s why I dislike the Fade. Never been here physically, though…”

“Well, this is all new to me,” Callum said. “Not a mage, remember? Nor have I fought demons in a weird out of body experience. I just have a creepy mark on my hand and daggers, thanks.”

“I don’t like this, Boss,” Bull said.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Emry said, nodding in agreement, bow in hand, his grip so tight Callum feared he would splinter the wood.

“It’s not the best,” Alistair agreed.

“It’s a shitty vacation, I get it,” Callum said, rolling his eyes. “Let me remind you the alternative was smashing to little bits on the ground and dying. I’m sorry. I don’t know how I brought us here.”

“No one is blaming you,” Hawke said calmly. “Relax, everyone. And keep your voices down; you never know what might be lurking around the corner.”

Almost as though summoned by Hawke’s voice, the green mist demons they’d been fighting at some of the rifts appeared in front of them, along with a few shades. The shades moved across the ground quickly, already eager to tear into them, it seemed; the green wraiths fired green energy at them. Callum grimaced and cloaked himself, dodging a bit of the energy as he pulled his blades free from his back, attempting to discern which target he should go after.

Arrows whizzed past him as Emry killed a wraith, and Bull charged at one of the shades. The familiar sensation of magic inched up Callum’s spine; he crept toward the furthest target in the back right, and not the back left, leaving that one for Emry and his arrows. The wraith he moved toward was suddenly encased in ice, momentarily frozen, and Callum sank his daggers into it, shattering it and killing it as he uncloaked.

The sound of Emry’s arrows left him glancing over, correct in his assumption that Emry would take the left target. He looked around the battlefield and saw Bull, Alistair and Theron dealing with the remaining shades; there were only two of them. They seemed fairly weak; all of these demons did. Perhaps they would get lucky, and not have to fight anything too difficult. That was his hope, anyway. He was exhausted, and that last stamina potion would not last long. He was ready to sleep for at least three days, if Dorian would let him.

_Dorian…_

He needed to get back to Dorian.

Once the battle was over, they kept moving. They climbed a staircase hidden in the rock formations, and atop the staircase waited a woman. She was older, with wrinkles lining her face, and a familiar chantry hat adorning her head. She looked familiar…

“What?” Theron spoke, staring at her. “It can’t be…”

“Not possible,” Alistair said, equally shocked.

“What?” Hawke echoed.

“I greet you, Wardens,” the woman said amicably. “And you, Champion, now Inquisitor.”

When she spoke, Callum stiffened, her voice too familiar.

He remembered it from the Temple of Sacred Ashes, after the Conclave; when he attempted to close the Breach. He approached the large opening in the sky, surrounded by people who still thought him guilty, and then suddenly there was his voice asking what was happening, but it wasn’t him. It was an echo, a remnant of what happened there, to cause the explosion. A memory he couldn’t remember. Also in that remnant was the echoing voice of the spirit in front of him – the Divine. She asked for someone to help her, and then told him to warn people, but he never got around to it because of the explosion.

His lips pursed into a thin line. The woman looked and sounded like the recently departed Divine Justinia.

And yet…

“It’s not her,” Alistair said. “Things in the Fade have a tendency to look like people we know. Demons. One looked like my father once. One also looked like my sister.”

“You think my survival impossible,” the woman said calmly, “yet here you stand alive in the Fade yourselves.”

Well… she wasn’t wrong.

“I don’t like this, Boss,” Bull muttered. “Things are getting creepy.”

“In truth,” the woman continued, “proving my existence either way would require time we do not have.

“Really? How hard is it to answer one question?” Hawke demanded. “I’m a human, and you are…? What are you? A demon, a spirit, the Divine?”

“I am only here to help,” she said evasively, before she shifted her gaze toward Callum. “You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Herald.”

“I don’t,” Callum said, shaking his head, eyes wide. Could she help him remember? He desperately wanted to regain his lost memories. He wanted to know what happened at the Conclave; he wanted to know what he forgot.

“The memories you have lost were taken by the demon that serves Corypheus,” she told him. “It is the Nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness. Growing fat upon the terror. The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its work.”

“I’d like to have a few words with this Nightmare about that,” Alistair said angrily.

“Me too,” Theron agreed bitterly. “The Grey Wardens used to stand for something greater; now they are in ruins because of this Nightmare.”

“You will have your chance, brave Wardens,” the woman, the Divine, said. “This place of darkness is its lair.”

“Corypheus seems to have a lot of demons at his disposal,” Hawke said, frowning deeply.

“Yeah,” Callum said, grimacing. “How does he command so many?”

_Does he have a way to control them, or do they just listen to him willingly? Hard to believe that, honestly, but…_

“I know not how he commands his army of demons,” the Divine said regretfully. “His power may come from the Blight itself. But the Nightmare serves willingly, for Corypheus has brought much terror to this world.”

Hawke and Callum shared quick glance. Corypheus truly needed to be stopped; forging alliances with demons, a demon which stole memories no less, and using power from the Blight… it was all wrong. The sooner they stopped him the better, but first they’d have to find a way out of here.

“He was one of the magisters who unleashed the First Blight upon the world, was he not?” the Divine continued. “Every child’s cry as the archdemon circles, every dwarf’s whimper in the Deep Roads… the Nightmare has fed well.”

“Was this… by chance… the big demon Erimond was attempting to bring through?” Hawke asked, and Callum grimaced.

_Oh, crap. Forgot about that for a minute. Shit._

“Yes.”

A chill crawled through his spine.

“So… it’s nearby,” Callum said, frowning.

“Yes.”

“Well, shit,” he said, sighing, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Lovely. Great. Fantastic.”

“When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you,” the Divine said. “Before you do anything else, you must recover it.”

Callum nodded. He needed to remember what he forgot, yes.

“These are your memories, Herald,” Divine Justinia said, gesturing off to the right, and Callum glanced over to see something green flicker to life. “Fight them, and regain what was lost.”

Then green energy was flying at him, curtesy of several wraith demons.

He cursed to himself and sprang into action.

xXx

Dorian felt numb.

The battle at Adamant ended shortly after the dragon left, with both Clarel and Erimond dead. The Wardens surrendered and were currently being held captive by the Inquisition. Cullen attempted to sort things out on his own, along with Cassandra, in the Inquisitor and Herald’s absence. Titles. Titles and not names, or he couldn’t get through this.

It had been nearly an hour since the battle ended, since _it_ happened. Since the fall.

It was a chilly night in the Western Approach. Dorian found he could not keep warm, no matter what he did. He tried sitting close to the fire Varric made, but the flames did little to help with the chill in the air. He eventually moved away from the chattering dwarf, whose words were too quick to listen to properly.

Too quick, because it was a distraction technique Dorian knew all too well – talking.

“What happened, mage?” snapped an angry voice, and Dorian turned only to be grabbed by prickly, gauntleted hands. Fenris’ green eyes were ablaze with a fury and mixture of emotions so potent he had to look away. “Answer me! Where is everyone? Where is Hawke? What happened?”

“They said you were there,” said Zevran, by way of explanation, at least, for Fenris’ behavior. He glanced over at the other elf to find that the blond elf didn’t look much better than Fenris, though he seemed at least a little more composed. There was still that wild look in his eyes, though he at least forced a smile. “Though, Fenris, I fear shaking him like that is not going to get us answers. Release him.”

Surprisingly, Fenris did release him, with a snarl and a huff. Dorian dropped to the ground, legs too numb to hold him up any longer. He was too tired for any of this; too tired, but sleep would not come. He did not want it to come, all too aware of what he would see when he closed his eyes.

“What happened?” Zevran asked. “Where are the others?”

“Where’s Hawke?”

“They fell,” Dorian said, and speaking the words nearly took more energy than he had. He felt so exhausted, bones so heavy, muscles so incredibly sore. He sat there limply, gaze focused on a lone spot on the ground, the flames from the fire a nearly twenty feet away casting odd shadows across his point of view.

“What do you mean, _fell_?”

“They _fell_ ,” he said again, swallowing. “I don’t know what you want me to say. They fell. I’m sure others could tell you the same.”

He’d already explained what happened to Cullen and Cassandra; he didn’t wish to go through everything again. He didn’t wish to relive those moments again.

“How could you let them fall, mage?” Fenris snapped, stepping toward him again, green eyes burning. “You were supposed to keep them safe!”

Dorian’s eyes widened somewhat. “You had faith in _me_?”

“I put my faith in Callum, and I had faith that you would at least protect _him_ ,” Fenris said, glaring at him. “But you couldn’t even do that, so what good are you?”

“Perhaps that is not fair, no?” Zevran said, as the numb coldness seeped through Dorian’s skin, sitting heavy in his bones. “After all, we failed to protect our paramours as well.”

“ _We_ were sent away. _He_ was not,” Fenris said, jabbing a finger at Dorian. “He was permitted to stay, and he simply let them fall.”

“Now, now, you’re both broody,” Varric said, joining them suddenly.

Dorian flinched, glancing at the dwarf who stepped between him and Fenris.

The dwarf didn’t look quite as downtrodden as when he last left him, filling the empty void with rapid speech. There was a spark of something in his eyes as he glanced at Dorian and Fenris. “They searched the bottom of the chasm.”

Dorian’s stomach churned violently but he carefully kept his face neutral. “I see,” he said slowly. Then all that was left was to return to Skyhold. He hid his trembling hands by clasping them together behind his back. “When are we leaving?”

“You misunderstand me, Sparkler,” Varric said, shaking his head. “They didn’t find _anything_.”

It took a long moment for that to process, for everyone. But when it did…

 _Impossible,_ was Dorian’s first thought.

They fell. He watched it happen. Others saw it as well, they just did not get as good a view as Dorian.

And yet…

 _And yet_.

“What do you mean?” Zevran asked.

“There are no bodies – it’s like they just vanished,” Varric said.

Dorian remembered the flash of green, like the mark on Callum’s hand. It lasted only a few seconds; by the time he peered over the edge, the light was gone and the bottom of the drop was too far. He saw only darkness.

“So you’re saying they could still be alive, yes?” Zevran asked.

“It’s possible, with Dicey,” Varric said, shrugging, like he wasn’t thawing the ice from Dorian’s veins. “That mark on his hand does some pretty nifty things, and a few of the onlookers mentioned something about a bright green light. Right, Sparkler?”

It took him a moment to find his voice. “That is correct,” he managed to say, voice a touch rougher than he would have liked. “It was brief, but yes.”

But if that was the case… if the mark did something… if they were alive… then where were they?

_Kaffas, Amatus, where are you?_

xXx

He picked up his memories one by one, and together they told a story.

It played like a vision before his eyes, for all to see against a flickering green backdrop.

Wardens stood in the center of a vast room, encircling the Divine. She was levitating off the ground, though by no will of her own. Instead there were these odd rings of red magic pulsating around her, keeping her in place, her arms spread wide as she was helpless to do anything but look around and speak, unable to move as Corypheus approached her.

“Now is the hour of our victory,” Corypheus said, walking around the Divine to stand in front of her, a few paces away.

“Why are you doing this? You, of all people?” the Divine asked, watching him helplessly as the Wardens continued to keep her restrained.

“Keep the sacrifice still,” Corypheus said, holding out the orb as it flickered green in his left hand. He held it up toward the Divine, and tendrils of green mixed with the red, surrounding her.

“Someone help me!” the Divine called.

A moment later, the door to the room burst open.

“What’s going on here?”

Callum entered the room, looking around, utterly confused but determined to help in whatever way he could. On his back rested his old daggers. Corypheus and the Divine – and everyone in the room – glanced over at the sudden noise of the doors opening, and his voice. They didn’t appreciate the interruption. Callum remembered now – he remembered how odd it was that that part of the building was so empty, and he’d heard movement inside that room, and voices, and then someone calling for help…

Taking her chance while everyone was distracted, and the magic holding her in place was weakened due to lack of focus, Divine Justinia smacked the orb out of Corypheus’ hand and sent it flying toward Callum. It rolled across the floor and out of instinct, Callum reached to grab it, picking it up with his left hand. As soon as he touched it, pain stabbed through him.

The look on Corypheus’ face was priceless, as the orb exploded into life, forever marking Callum’s hand and stealing whatever its purpose was from Corypheus.

And just like that, the vision, or whatever it was, ended, and Callum gasped, coming back to his senses. He blinked a few times and looked around; Bull rubbed at his eyes, muttering about crazy Fade stuff, and Emry seemed uneasy, still holding onto his bow so tightly. Hawke stepped toward Callum.

“So that’s what happened at the Conclave,” he said.

Callum’s stomach twisted painfully. “I killed all those people…”

Everyone at the Conclave, at the Temple of Sacred Ashes… everyone who died… it was all his fault. He caused that explosion. When he picked up the orb, he caused an explosion and he was the only one who survived.

“It wasn’t you,” Theron said. “It was this Corypheus. You stopped him from gaining that mark – that… what did you call it? Anchor? You stopped him from gaining that power.”

“I did nothing,” Callum said. “The Divine knocked it into my hands. All I did was enter the room.”

“And all eyes were immediately upon you, Boss. You sure know how to make an entrance.”

“So that mark on your hand… it wasn’t sent by Andraste. It came from the orb, from Corypheus,” Alistair said, sighing. “I’d hoped… but that’s silly, I suppose.”

“Still a chantry boy at heart, I see,” Theron said, lightly judging Alistair with his elbow.

“Corypheus intended to rip open the Veil,” the Divine said, suddenly right behind them. They all spun to face her. Except this couldn’t really be here, because she’d surely died in the explosion, right? “Use the Anchor to enter the Fade, and throw open the doors of the Black City. Not for the Old Gods, but for himself.”

_Well, yeah… I mean, he’s selfish, isn’t he? And he’s crazy._

Another chill slid down Callum’s spine.

“When you disrupted his plan, the orb bestowed the Anchor upon you instead,” she continued, oblivious to his thoughts.

That knot in his stomach tightened further, coils of dread forever cutting into him. _Bestowed, huh? Doesn’t feel like much of a gift, and I never asked for this. I don’t want this._

“I don’t want this,” he said, waving his left hand emphatically. “Is there any way to remove it?”

The Divine stared at him for a moment. “I am sorry, I cannot help you in that regard.”

His stomach sank, the coils tightening. _I don’t want this. I don’t want any of this._

Dorian, he decided. He just wanted Dorian.

Curling into bed with Dorian sounded amazing right now, but sadly… he was beginning to wonder if he’d ever be able to do that again.

“You cannot escape the lair of the Nightmare until you regain all that it took from you,” she said.

_There’s more? This thing took more memories from me?_

That made sense, though, he supposed; he had been physically in the Fade before, yet still had no memory of it, even if he did remember receiving this mark now.

“You have recovered some of yourself, but now it knows you are here,” she continued.

_Oh, great._

“Wonderful,” Theron sighed.

“Why can’t things ever be easy with you, Boss?” Bull groaned.

“Things have _never_ been easy with him,” Emry muttered. “He’s the most complicated man I know. You should try taking a vacation with him. You’d think things might go easier, but you’d be wrong.”

“Boss, your friend is making it sound like you think ‘fun’ is a chore.”

“It’s not a chore,” Callum said, rolling his eyes. “Life just hates me, that’s all. I love fun. Fun is great. Complicated just likes me better.”

“You should break up with complicated.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

“Now, now, children,” Hawke said. “Do I need to separate you three?”

“You can try, Inquisitor,” Bull said, “but I’m not sure that’d work very well.”

Callum rolled his eyes as they continued walking, searching for more memories.

xXx

“It _is_ possible,” Solas finally said, and the knot in Dorian’s stomach loosened enough to allow him to breathe a little easier, if only just. Solas’ eyes traveled over each of them as he raised a delicate brow. “This is very interesting. If they have indeed gone physically into the Fade, to escape the fall… then this is the second time the Herald has done this. Fascinating.”

“Truly,” Dorian said, rolling his eyes. “But are they safe? How do they get out?”

“How did the Herald get out the first time?” Cassandra asked from where she stood next to Dorian.

“The Breach, I would assume,” Solas said. “You would know more than I would, Seeker. Your people found him.”

“A rift opened and spat him out, according to our soldiers,” the Seeker said. “But it was at the Breach, yes, when rifts were opening randomly, so it was easier for them to be created. Are there any rifts nearby, that they might walk out of?”

“There’s one in the main hall,” Zevran said. “The magister guy – Erimond – opened it to summon a demon, to bind to the Warden-Commander. But she said no, and they fought. The rift should still be there, yes?”

“I would assume so,” Cullen said thoughtfully, rubbing at his chin. “Callum was not there at the time to close it.”

“Then if they come out… that is the most likely place for it to happen,” Cassandra said.

“What do you mean, _if_?” Fenris asked, tossing her a quick glare.

“I want to have the faith you do, but I just…” Her expression tightened and she shook her head. “I am sorry, Fenris. Maker give me strength. _When_ they come out.”

Dorian inhaled slowly. The main hall. If Callum were to make it out of the Fade – Maker, the _Fade_! Physically in the Fade! – then he would stumble out there, right?

Assuming their theories were correct and they were actually in the Fade, and their bodies hadn’t simply been stolen from the bottom of the chasm.

The thought left Dorian’s stomach twisting and churning once again.

xXx

The Nightmare was close; it haunted them every step of their journey through the Fade. It mentioned wearing Bull’s skin, how Fenris would die, how Zevran would die, how Emry hated being left behind and also felt useless with just his arrows here in the Fade… it seemed to know everything about them, and it hounded them the whole time they traveled, though never showed up itself. That was good, of course; they weren’t ready to face it yet, and Callum doubted they’d be ready anytime soon. They were all exhausted; the stamina potion was wearing off rapidly. He could feel it heavy in his bones. All he wanted to do was sleep. They were all sore and stiff and tired, and yet they kept finding demons everywhere.

He gathered more memories, and another vision played out.

This time it was the Breach back at Haven. It was how he escaped – suddenly that much was clear, at least. He climbed a huge toward in the Fade, running from demons, scrambling for purchase on the crumbling wall surface. Ahead of him climbed the Divine. So she must have been brought into the Fade with him, alive – but how? Why wasn’t she killed as well, in the explosion at the Conclave? Maybe it was because of that ritual, where she was supposed to be the sacrifice – where the green and red magics mingled. Maybe it left the orb drawn to her somehow, wanting to protect her as much as its new owner. So it brought her into the Fade as well.

It was the only theory Callum had at the moment.

“The demons!” the Divine called, reaching out for him.

The scene shifted, then, like a gap in his memory, possibly fueled by adrenaline. His heart pounded in his chest like it was actually happening, like he was running for his life then and there, even though he was only witnessing what he once lost.

They ran for the rift at the top of the tower, but just shy of it, the Divine stopped, something twisting around her leg. She had a moment to look up and catch Callum’s eye, giving him a steely nod, before she said firmly, “Go.”

Then she was gone.

Callum’s heart racing in his chest, he spun as the demons descended upon him, and fled through the rift.

He came out of the vision with a gasp, his head throbbing and his heart still racing. He swallowed thickly and caught sight of the Divine ahead of him. “It was you,” he said shakily. “They thought it was Andraste sending me from the Fade, but it was you behind me. And then you… She died.”

The woman looked down for a moment, before she said quietly, “Yes.”

“So this… can’t be the Divine,” Alistair said.

“You don’t say,” Bull muttered.

“I am sorry, if I disappoint you,” the woman said.

Then she began to change. At first it started in her eyes – they began to glow.

“Get back – she is a demon!” Emry snapped, bow at the ready.

Callum shook his head – he didn’t get that vibe from her.

Her eyes glowed, then her face did, and her skin melted away. Then she was nothing but bright green and yellow swirling together, in the faint outline of the Divine but more… majestic, in a way. More angelic. He stared at the bright green-yellow outline, transfixed.

“Are you… her?” he asked softly, staring. “Did you linger here to help me, instead of passing on?”

“If that is the story you wish to tell, it is not a bad one,” the glowing form said in the Divine’s voice.

“What we do know is that the mortal Divine perished at the temple… thanks to the Grey Wardens,” Hawke sighed, shaking his head.

“It wasn’t their fault,” Alistair said. “Corypheus was controlling them. Erimond is to blame, as well as this Nightmare demon for making them so desperate.”

“We’ll argue about it later,” Callum said.

“Uh… guys…” Emry said, pointing with an arrow just behind them.

Callum spun and saw giant spiders crawled across the ground toward them – little fearlings, as they’d taken to calling them. Pieces of the fear demon. They looked different for everyone. Callum didn’t care for spiders but he didn’t fear them, really; he wasn’t sure why they just looked like spiders to him when it was apparent they didn’t look like spiders to everyone else.

“The Nightmare has found us,” the glowing spirit said, hovering over them before she disappeared in a tiny explosion of light.


	46. Here Lies the Abyss part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callum and the group face the Nightmare in the Fade, and decisions have to be made. Dorian plans on giving the Herald a verbal lashing when he can. Or, Here Lies the Abyss finally wraps up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. This chapter turned into a monster, sheesh. It's freaking long. Sorry about that (or not sorry, depending on if you like long chapters or not, lol). And finally done with Here Lies the Abyss! Huzzah! It got a bit AU at the end but oh well xD Hope it sounds okay.
> 
> Comments make the world go round, and keep me updating :3 Feed me?

Chapter Forty-Five: Here Lies the Abyss (Part Four)

 

The giant spider demon, the Nightmare, was a leviathan creature which blotted out the sky when it found them. Fear weighed heavy and cold in Callum’s stomach as he stared up at it, looking into its dead, bug-like eyes as they seemed to stare into his very soul. The Divine begged that he give Leliana a final, parting message from her, before she sacrificed herself to stall the beast and buy them time to make for the rift, which was not far; he could see the glow in the distance. Freedom was nearby, if they could only escape the demons.

The giant, oversized spider disappeared, but in its place appeared a remnant of the beast to fight them – a levitating, humanoid (almost, if he were to be kind) figure but much too tall, really, with too many limbs expanding from its arms and shoulders, like spider legs. The Aspect of the Nightmare lunged at them, along with a fear demon and fearlings, and the fight began. Win this, and they could leave. They could get out of here, he could close the rift behind them, and he would make certain he closed every single rift he found so that this Nightmare never escaped the Fade.

Cloaking, he moved around the edge of battle, drowning out the long drone of the Nightmare’s – Corypheus’ – voice as it taunted them again.

“Did you truly think you mattered, Hawke? Did you think anything you ever did mattered?”

_Ignore it, Hawke._

The mage gritted his teeth and kept firing at the demons and the Aspect. He didn’t falter, though he was right; the taunting had grown quite tiresome, and the words never did cut any less.

“Emry… a slave in Tevinter, once, but you aren’t truly free now, are you?”

“Shut it,” Emry snapped, lifting his bow, pulling back to loose the arrow.

“You’re a slave to your desires, to your pitiful little heart. You’re doomed to be forever alone. You’ll watch everyone you love die.”

“I said _shut it_ ,” Emry hissed.

The Aspect laughed.

“What about you, Callum? Is it really Callum? I think not. Schuyler is a much more fitting name, is it not?”

He faltered in his steps, breath catching in his throat as million memories bombarded his mind, playing like little visions behind his eyes even as he attempted to blink them away. At the sound of his rushed breath a fearling turned and sprang at empty air, catching him off guard. He barely managed to bring his dagger up in time as he uncloaked, blocking the dripping fangs of the spider demon. He gritted his teeth.

_Focus, Callum. Don’t listen to it._

The demon, thus far, had barely taunted him. It’d focused mainly on the others. It’d mentioned the mark on his hand, and how weak it thought him to be, but other than that, it had mostly kept silent about him. Perhaps a part of him had thought – hoped – it would remain that way.

“You couldn’t even save your family – what can you hope to do against a god? What can you even hope to do against _me_?”

Iron bands around his lungs left it impossible to breathe. He swallowed thickly and took a step back as the fearlings pressed in on him. He took a shaky breath, then another, and then twirled his daggers, attempting to focus.

_Ignore it. Ignore the words. They are only words, they mean nothing._

The demon had been taunting everyone; now it was his turn. If the others could ignore it, so could he. He had to. He had to focus, or he’d be dead.

“Do you truly think Dorian wants you after all you have done? You couldn’t even save your family. You watched them die. You let them die.”

_Shut up. Shut up!_

“He knows you are pathetic. He doesn’t love you; he is simply using you. They all are.”

“Don’t listen to it,” Hawke said, suddenly right next to him, and Callum jumped, torn from his dance of slicing spider fearlings. He spun and nearly slashed at Hawke as well, but managed to stop himself at the last second. Hawke quirked a brow at him, but otherwise did not comment on it. “Ignore it.”

“I’m trying,” Callum said, teeth gritted.

The fight against the Aspect was going slowly; Bull and Theron were attempting to break down its barriers while Alistair finished off the fear demon. Emry shot at it with arrows while attempting to cover them as well, if any fearlings wandered too close.

“You are nothing,” the Aspect continued as it teleported across the battlefield, away from Theron and Bull. It appeared behind Alistair, who spun at the last second to dodge the clawed hands swiping at him. By now they were all beyond fatigued, their movements slowing, their strength waning; if the fight didn’t end soon…

The Aspect summoned more fearlings to attack them. They appeared all over the battlefield, some behind Callum and Hawke who stood on the edge, and some just next to the Aspect, in the center of the fray. Callum gritted his teeth and cloaked, disappearing from Hawke’s side to move behind the nearest fearlings as Hawke flung spells at them.

He didn’t see the Aspect coming up behind him, too focused on the fearlings, on keeping them off of Hawke while the mage worked his magic, literally.

The Aspect could see him even when he was supposed to be invisible; the demon was too perceptive. It easily found him. A clawed hand knocked him aside, staggering him off the path he’d forged toward the last fearling, and he gasped as jagged marks and tears appeared in his armor, burning and red in the wake of claws. He spun even as he staggered, facing the Aspect in time to dodge the next swipe despite the fatigue weighing on him, and the pain bursting behind his eyes with every movement.

_Keep moving, keeping moving… or you’re dead._

They were out of potions by now, having been fighting for so long, all of them tired and growing more unfocused as the fight dragged on. Callum had been out of healing potions for a while, despite the fact they actually came across a few not long ago, surprisingly; who would have thought they would have found physically healing potions in the Fade? It was lucky they did, or they would not be here now, he knew.

But he’d given the last of his to Emry a while ago, when a wraith managed to land a hit on his friend. Now he was all too aware of the jagged claw marks down his side, from shoulder to stomach, deeper at the top due to the way he’d pulled away at the sudden pain, but still having torn through his armor and leathers.

By now the others had caught up to the teleporting Aspect and were attacking it from behind as it seemed to focus on Callum. Well. He could be bait, he supposed.

He backed up slowly, keeping his gaze focused on the Aspect as it lingered on him, inching forward to keep pace with him, unaware of the others behind it at the moment. It raised a clawed hand as though to strike him, and Bull, Theron, and Alistair lunged forward to strike it. Arrows flew through the air, landing in the back of the Aspect’s shoulder as spells smacked against the demon’s barrier.

The demon surely would have staggered, had it not still been levitating a few inches off the ground. As it was, it slid forward a little, then laughed.

“Would they be so eager to protect you if they knew the truth?” it asked. “Do they know how you left your family to die? Do they know how you watched your sister-”

Red flashed before Callum’s eyes. “Shut _up_!” he hissed, lunging forward with a snarl, bringing his blades around rapidly. “Don’t you dare mention her! You have no right!”

He could still see Sarabeth’s face as she looked at him, having been stabbed through the belly. It was the only clear image he had left of his sister, and it haunted him. Why was that the only image he remembered clearly? Everything else was so fuzzy, so hazy, as though in a fog he couldn’t clear. Why was it that the clearest memories of his family were the ones of their dead bodies, but not the ones of them laughing in the kitchen together, or warm hugs from his mother, or, Maker… what did those hugs _feel like_ …

“She died hating you, you know,” the demon said, even as Callum’s daggers bit into it. It teleported a few feet away, and continued speaking as the others moved toward it, eager to tear into it. Callum stood there, attempting to breathe around the lump in his throat. “She thought ‘why me’ as she died, and you hid like a coward. Then you ran. You are nothing, Schuyler Trevelyan. Nothing but a coward.”

“Don’t listen,” Hawke said, flinging spells at the Aspect as he stood next to Callum again. The familiar tingle of magic crawling across his skin nearly left him lashing out at the mage, the sensation too much right now as his mind flashed back to _that_ night, but he stayed his hand and bit his tongue, keeping silent. “Your sister loved you. Your family loved you. Dorian loves you, and he’s waiting for you, so focus.”

_Dorian._

Maker, Dorian.

That distraught look on his face as they fell. He never wanted to see it again.

He swallowed, and managed a brief nod.

_Ignore the demon. Ignore it for Dorian. To see him again, even if the demon’s right and he hates you, too…_

The thought was almost too much.

What did Dorian see in him?

He was pathetic.

He let his family die, let his home burn, let Haven get destroyed, let it burn, couldn’t save the Divine, killed all those people at the Conclave by picking up the blighted orb…

He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t the Herald of Andraste.

The Nightmare was right; he was nothing but a coward.

“ _Callum_ ,” Hawke hissed, to crystal of his staff smacking into the side of his head lightly – not enough to injure, but enough to hurt a little, and knock him from his thoughts, “snap out of it, you fool! Do not let it get to you. Focus.”

_Focus, Callum. You have to lock the Nightmare inside the Fade, after you all get out._

The mark on his hand was needed, even if he himself wasn’t.

It was all he was good for.

He nodded, and drew in a trembling breath, and then another, and another, until they were smooth and steady.

The Aspect appeared in front of him again.

“You are _nothing_ ,” it said, reaching for him with clawed hands. “But do not worry, Schuyler – I can take the pain way. I can end it for you. I am a gracious host.”

His lips pulled back fiercely as he snarled, dodging the sweeping claws before he sidestepped and quickly moved forward, hurriedly bringing his twin daggers around to cut into the Aspect just as Bull’s double-edged axe cut into the thing’s back as well.

The Aspect released this sound – perhaps a snarl, perhaps a laugh or some strange mixture of the two – and swung again at Callum, fury guiding its movements as it was on its last legs, having just enough fight left in it to attack once more, but not enough to teleport away again, thankfully. Good, they could end this, finally. They were all exhausted and wounded and they needed to get out of here.

Its reaching swipe never made it to Callum, as Theron’s mallet hammered home in its back, and Emry’s arrows sank dead center between what should have been its shoulder blades. Alistair cut low with his sword, as well, and then there was Bull’s axe. It never had a chance to finish attacking Callum.

The Aspect died without much fuss, after that. It disappeared without a sound – no more taunts, no more words, nothing. It was just gone, and the way was clear.

Callum sucked in a quick breath. “Hurry,” he ordered, gesturing in the direction of the pulsating green glow of the rift, differentiating itself from everything else here in the Fade. Maker, he was ready to leave.

They made their way as quickly as they could toward the rift. Their gait was slightly staggered, with Alistair now leaning on Theron, regaining what he could of his stamina, both of them panting, and Emry nearly out of arrows, attempting to guard their rear as best he could. Everything ached on Callum, the claw marks bleeding a little more than before due to his movements in the battle. His thicker armor helped a little; he knew it would be worse if he stuck with his usual light armor, but in an effort to appease Dorian he’d taken extra precautions when he could, and yet still that thing’s claws had ripped through his armor and leathers so easily. Theron was in much the same shape; he’d been given a healing potion, but even so, he needed rest. He was looking rather pale, but that might have just been the green glow of the Fade playing tricks with him, Callum noted.

Then again, maybe not.

“There it is!” Hawke said, jogging alongside Callum.

Hawke wasn’t a healer by any means, but he’d done what he could for their group while they were in the Fade. He’d spent a great deal of time with Anders in Kirkwall, after all, and picked up a thing or two; he was okay with minor wounds, but jagged claw marks… well… he did what he could. It wasn’t much, but it was all they had. He’d done what he could for the pain fogging Callum’s mind, which was what allowed him to think through the fight, but even that was wearing off now that the adrenaline was beginning to fade as well.

Their freedom was so close. The tense muscles in Callum’s shoulders relaxed and he felt like he could breathe again. They were almost there.

He would have to go through the rift last, he realized, even as he was the first to reach it, along with Hawke.

He would have to go through last so he could close it behind him immediately afterward, but only after everyone else made it out okay.

Freedom was so close; he could taste it.

Dorian was so close.

_I’m coming, Dori._

He stopped and gestured for the others to go through the rift.

Bull and Hawke went through, and then just as Theron and Alistair were moving to approach the rift, they stopped, eyes widening as they looked at something behind Callum. Emry, standing just behind them, had already taken aim with his bow. Callum spun even as he moved, narrowly avoiding the stabbing spider legs as the Nightmare approached, having appeared from seemingly nowhere, whatever the Divine’s spirit did to get rid of it for that short while apparently having worn off.

He stared up at the creature, fear filling him.

Maker, it was _huge_.

“A valiant effort, but you have failed,” the Nightmare said, still using Corypheus’ voice.

It didn’t have the range of mobility the Aspect did, too massive to move quickly, but what it lacked in agility it made up for in raw strength and intimidation. It was so massive, so tall, blotting out the sky and blocking them from the rift with its many legs.

_Oh, Maker… this is it…_

There was no getting past this. They were so _close_ , and yet… _and yet_ …

Callum’s lips pursed.

_No._

He wouldn’t let it end like this. He couldn’t.

He had to get out of here. He had to see Dorian again.

He had to wipe that look off his lover’s face.

Had to prove this Nightmare _wrong_.

It couldn’t end here.

And yet…

“Go,” Theron said, as Alistair pulled out his sword again, both of them staring up at the Nightmare as it lumbered slowly toward them. “I’ll cover you, distract it, just – _go_.”

“No,” Alistair snapped, glaring at the elf. “ _You_ go, and _I’ll_ distract it.”

“That’s crazy talk, Alistair,” Theron said, shaking his head. “You’re already exhausted.”

“And you’re hurt!”

“I’ll stay,” Theron said again, looking at Callum. “Just make sure you three get out of here, and seal that rift behind you.”

“You’re not listening to me, are you?” Alistair asked, glaring at Theron. “I’ll stay, and you go. The Wardens are going to need you now more than ever, Theron, to help them rebuild. You’re the Hero of Ferelden! You can’t just – just…”

“I could stay,” Emry offered quietly, weakly. “I don’t have many arrows, but I could…”

“No,” Callum said, shaking his head. “No one is staying behind for my mess. I got us here. This is my fault. I’ll stay.”

“ _What_?” Emry snapped.

“I don’t think you’ve thought this through,” Alistair said, frowning at him.

“You can’t,” Theron said simply.

“It’s not up for debate,” Callum said grimly, eying the Nightmare again. It was getting much closer, just watching them. Maybe it was still weakened from whatever the Divine did, which could give them an advantage… Maker, he was not looking forward to this. He did not want to fight this. He just wanted to go _home_.

Home.

Where was home?

Dorian.

He wanted Dorian.

Skyhold with Dorian.

Wrapped in blankets in bed, with Dorian mocking his curtains.

Wanted it so much it _hurt_.

“Tell Dorian…” he swallowed, and ran his tongue across his lips, wetting them slightly. “Tell him I’m sorry.”

_I tried._

He tried to make it out. He tried to make it back.

“I will stay,” Theron said again.

“We don’t have time to argue, so just go,” Callum said, pulling his daggers free as he faced the Nightmare. He drew in a breath, and exhaled slowly, steeling himself. “It’s been an honor, serving with you all. Take care of everyone for me, and Maker, keep an eye on Dorian, please.”

With that, he cloaked, and then hurried toward the Nightmare. As perceptive as the Aspect had been, the Nightmare itself was larger and stronger, but not as perceptive since it was too big to focus on everything. It missed him, until he was right up on it, already cutting away at it. One of its legs fell away, and as he uncloaked, all of its attention focused on him. It veered ever so slightly away from the rift and the others, giving them the slightest of openings.

_Now, guys. Run!_

They were already doing it, though, if not a bit reluctantly. They cast him glances as they did so, clearly not wanting to leave him behind, but it was what had to happen. With any luck he could close the rift while he was still in the Fade, or he could sneak around the Nightmare and escape as well, and then close the rift.

It was that tentative hope that kept him going, even if he knew it was extremely unlikely that he was going to make it out of this. In all likelihood, he would die within the next few minutes – or be trapped in the Fade, if he somehow succeeded in closing the rift, sealing himself here with the demon.

Neither option was pleasant.

The Nightmare moved slow, which was his only saving grace. He wasn’t sure if it was because of what the Divine did, or just because it was so massive, but he would take whatever help he could get. He weaved in and out of the many legs, careful not to get crushed or pinched between them or under them, and cut at them when he could, attempting to stagger the massive beast. If he could actually take this thing down… Maker, that would truly be a miracle.

It would also get rid of Corypheus’ demon army; the Nightmare had admitted to them that while it willingly served Corypheus, it commanded the other demons to follow Corypheus, so if they killed the Nightmare…

He was so tired, though.

He was exhausted before the fight with the Aspect even started, and after that ended he was so ready to sleep for days, and now… now he just…

His head throbbed, everything ached, his wounds were bleeding and burning, his movements slowing, and his vision was going in and out.

He was so tired. So sore.

It would be over soon, he knew.

He’d have to seal the rift the second he got a second away from the Nightmare, or bolt for the rift and hope he made it through.

The fight was quickly leaving him. He’d be dead soon if something didn’t happen.

And then, like a miracle, something _did_ happen.

The Nightmare stepped a little too far from the rift in an effort to corner Callum. Callum ducked beneath a swiping leg, slashed at it with the last of his waning energy, and bolted for the rift, pumping his sore and tired legs as fast as he could.

He dove through the glowing rift and turned halfway through, barely feeling the magic pull at him.

By the time it spat him out and he slid across the ground on his rear, his left hand was already raised, sealing the rift behind him. The shadow of a giant spider’s leg could be seen attempting to come through after him, just as he sealed it, and it closed with an explosion of sound, green energy dispersing as pain rippled up his hand and wrist, leaving him biting down hard on his tongue.

He barely had time to breathe before he was surrounded, then.

Hands clawed at him, lifting him to his feet, shoving a flask to his lips. “ _Festis bei umo canavarum,”_ hissed a familiar voice, right in his ear. “Drink, you bloody fool, or I’ll kill you myself.”

Dorian’s terse voice left him relaxing against the mage even as he turned into him, accepting the healing potion. It left him coughing as he swallowed too soon, catching sight of Dorian’s pale face and narrowed brown eyes.

“S-Still don’t… Still don’t know what that means,” he managed to say, once he could breathe again, leaning heavily against the necromancer. Dorian scowled at him, brows furrowing as the empty flask was dropped to the ground.

“Do you need another?” Dorian asked, ignoring him.

He shook his head tiredly. “Did… everyone make it out okay?”

He looked around, but the effort left his vision swimming. The world spun around him. He staggered, and Dorian tightened his hold on him. Hands grabbed his other side, and he glanced over to find Hawke helping him as well.

“When you’re better,” Hawke said, glaring at him, “I have a few angry words to say to you. So does Bull. And Emry.”

“Get in line,” Dorian said. “I’m first.”

“Wow. What’d I do now?” Callum asked, blinking sleepily at them. He was so tired. Maker, he just wanted to sleep, and apparently he’d done something wrong. What’d he do this time?

Dorian shot him a nasty look, but shook his head. “We’ll discuss it later, after you’ve rested and had your wounds seen to by a healer. Is Anders still around? I just saw him…”

“He’s looking at Emry right now,” Hawke said. “I can take him if you wanna get him.”

“I have him,” Dorian snapped, and then paused. “I mean – no, that is fine. Thank you.”

Hawke backed away, holding his hands up harmlessly. “Alright. I’ll go find Fenris, then.”

“I am surprised he is not glued to your side.”

“I told him to make sure Zevran and Theron got some privacy, so he led them away while I waited for Callum’s lazy ass to show up.”

“Not lazy,” Callum said, scoffing. “ _Awesome_.”

“Sure,” Hawke said. “But you _are_ the one dragging your feet, literally.”

“ ‘m tired.”

“I’ll bet, _Amatus._ That stamina potion must have worn off ages ago; it’s a wonder you’re still standing.”

“He’s not, really – you’re holding him up.”

“Semantics,” Callum said, waving Hawke away.

“Good job with the rift, by the way,” Hawke said.

“Thanks. Wasn’t… uh… Wasn’t sure I’d make it, there for a minute.”

“We weren’t sure you would, either,” Hawke told him. “But Dorian’s right – let’s not discuss it right now. You look like death warmed over, Callum.”

“You say the nicest things, Hawke.”

Dorian helped him toward a tent, which had been set up inside Adamant Fortress, in one of the hallways. Rubble lined the hallways, but it had been cleared in the area in which the tent stood. Hawke opened the tent flap, allowing them to enter, before he left them. Dorian eased Callum onto the bedroll on the ground, and Callum winced as his sore and wounded body relaxed against the furs. The healing potion had helped the wounds from his shoulder to his stomach close partially, but other than that… he was still sore, and exhausted, and his head throbbed from the fatigue.

“You should stay awake until a healer looks at you,” Dorian advised, kneeling next to him. “I’m certain Hawke went to fetch one, so it shouldn’t be long.”

“ ‘m fine,” Callum insisted through a yawn. “Just exhausted. Maker, I want to sleep for a week. Would you let me?”

He flashed a tired smile Dorian’s way, but the mage did not return it. The smile died away, and he exhaled loudly.

“You’re angry with me,” he said. “Why?”

“We’ll discuss it after you’ve had some rest,” Dorian said. “Until then I can’t yell at you properly, not while you looked like a kicked puppy.”

“Still a cute puppy, though, right?”

“Yes, _Amatus_. You’re still ‘cute’.”

Callum smirked. “Well, that’s something, at least.” He swallowed, looking away, mirth fading as quickly as it’d arrived. “Maker, Dorian… that was an ordeal. I never wish to experience it again.”

“We’ll discuss it later,” Dorian said again. “Other than that – how are you feeling? Any other injuries I should know about, other than these claw marks?” He gestured at the torn armor.

Callum shook his head. “My head’s killing me, and I’m exhausted, but other than that, no.”

“Good. Then I can kill you later.”

“Maker – what did I do?”

Dorian scowled. “Later. I’ll kill you _later_.”

“Well, as long as it’s _later_ , I guess I’ll let you kill me,” Callum said, rolling his eyes.

“You have no choice. You will accept your punishment.”

He smirked tiredly, quirking a brow at the mage. “Oh, _punishment_ , huh? Well, if you insist.”

“I do not mean…” Dorian’s scowl deepened.

“And there’s Denny! Hello, Denny. It’s been a while.”

“I’m trying to be angry with you. You’re making it difficult.”

“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing, really. I don’t like it when you’re angry with me.”

Dorian sighed, the scowl dying away, expression contorting somewhat. “I need to be angry with you.”

“Need to be?” Callum asked, frowning at him. “Why’s that?”

“It is easier than… this.”

“Than… what?”

“Than whatever it is I am feeling.”

“What are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” Dorian sighed, shaking his head. “Look at me complaining; I’m not the one who went bodily into the Fade. Are you… alright?”

“I’m fine,” Callum said.

“You were physically in the Fade…” Dorian said dubiously, eying him with a frown, “and you’re just… fine?”

“I’m not _fine_ , but I’m just… I don’t know. It was terrible, but I don’t want to talk about it, at least not right now. Maybe later, after… after I’ve slept and you’ve killed me.” He smiled weakly, and Dorian snorted.

“Right. Later, then. Where is Hawke with that healer?”

“Give him time; he’s tired, too.”

They were all tired. Dorian looked exhausted, too, with dark rings around his eyes and his skin paler than normal. Even though he knew it had only been a few hours since they entered the Fade, it felt like longer. Felt like _years_.

The tent flap opened then, and Hawke poked his head in. “I have Anders with me. He’ll look you over.”

Dorian got to his feet. “I’ll give you some space.”

“Come back when he’s done?” Callum asked quietly, looking at him hopefully.

“Of course, _Amatus._ ”

Dorian exited the tent, disappearing with Hawke, and Anders entered, scowling at him.

“You sure know how to complicate things, don’t you? Hawke was never this much trouble,” the blond healer said by way of greeting as he knelt in front of Callum.

“Gee, thanks,” Callum said. “Nice to see you, too. Oh, and you’re not having your Calling.”

“We figured that out.” Anders’ expression softened. “You were right. Thank you, for easing my mind. I appreciate it. I don’t… I don’t have many friends since what happened at Kirkwall.”

“Well, I’m your friend.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah, hugs and all that. Fix me now, so I can sleep?” he asked hopefully.

Anders smirked. “Let’s see what you’ve done to yourself this time.”

“You make it sound like I do this on purpose. I don’t, you know. Shit just happens to me.”

“A likely story.”

“It does!”

Anders chuckled, and let the healing magic flow over him.

xXx

_He’s alive._

The thought kept penetrating Dorian’s mind, a never-ending loop.

_He’s alive._

When Hawke and the others materialized through the rift, and Callum didn’t follow, Dorian wasn’t sure who was more confused – himself or Hawke. Hawke barked questions at Emry and Theron when they made it through the rift, and while Emry ruefully looked at the ground, Theron told them how Callum stayed behind to distract the Nightmare and buy them time to escape.

Dorian thought his heart stopped then. Callum would get left behind in the Fade to die – he’d close the rift any second now, from within, and-

But then he jumped through the rift himself, and closed it on the shadow of a giant spider leg. A second later Dorian was running, shouting ‘ _Amatus’_ like a prayer though he wasn’t sure it could be heard over the commotion that followed, the deafening sound of the rift closing drowning out everything else. He made it to the rogue first, who didn’t move from his position on the ground, looking like death warmed over. He hauled him to his feet and tried to get him away from prying eyes – it wouldn’t do for the Herald to be seen like that, and Callum disliked being the center of attention anyway. Plus he needed to get somewhere he could rest, and be seen to by a healer. He’d already given him his last healing potion, even if it was only a lesser one, but it seemed to be enough to get him moving again, even if he did lean heavily against Dorian, the adrenaline fading. It was wonder he was still on his feet at all, really.

They made it to a tent, away from prying eyes, and Hawke went to get a healer. Now Dorian stood outside, attempting to keep his hands from trembling.

_He’s alive._

His _amatus_ was alive. It was a miracle, truly. He’d seen him fall, seen them all fall, and believe them to be dead. He wasn’t sure what hurt worse – seeing them fall as he had and being unable to stop it, or losing hope, for however brief a time. He’d lost faith, lost hope in Callum, as Emry had all those years ago.

Never again, he vowed to himself.

He would never believe him dead again, would never lose hope again, unless he saw the body for his own eyes, no matter how much it would hurt.

Because if there was one thing he’d learned about Callum, it was that he had knack for doing the impossible, and surviving the unthinkable.

First with the time traveling blood mage, then Haven, now this…

Never again.

He’d never lose faith again.

But first, he’d have to scream himself hoarse – a task he wasn’t looking forward to, but he knew it would inevitable. Someone had to knock some sense into the stupidly reckless rogue, after all.

Maker, he’d actually volunteered to be _left behind in the Fade_.

He bore the mark on his hand, the only one capable of stopping Corypheus, and he volunteered to stay behind.

He knew what would happen to the world if something happened to him. He’d seen that Dark Future just as Dorian had.

And yet he’d stayed behind.

What if he didn’t make it out?

What if he _didn’t make it out_?

What if Dorian lost him there?

What if the Inquisition lost him there? Dorian couldn’t be selfish; all of Thedas was counting on Callum. Nevermind what it would do to him – what would the Inquisition do without him?

Yet he stupidly volunteered to stay behind, and it was only blind luck that allowed him to make it back at all. It was only blink luck that Dorian was able to see those wonderful copper green eyes again, see that smile again, touch him and hold him again, and-

Maker, he had it bad.

He couldn’t keep his hands from trembling.

He tried to blame it on the cold – it was night now, and night in the Western Approach could be quite frigid, an arid wasteland. But he knew even if he were to sit near the fire or under his furs in a tent, the chill would not go away.

 _He promised he would be more careful._ Kaffas _, he gave me his word. I told him I couldn’t do this anymore…_

He told Callum he could not have him continue to be so reckless with his life. He meant it. He did.

Now was not the time for such thoughts, however – not when Callum was recovering. He could shout at him to his heart’s content later, when he was better. When he could take the verbal lashing without collapsing.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood outside the tent, trapped within his thoughts as he stared down his hands, willing them to cease their trembling, when the tent flap opened. Anders emerged, and nodded at him.

“He’s exhausted, but on the mend,” the healer said, and the knot in Dorian’s stomach loosened slightly. “I recommend rest for at least the next two days, and he’s going to be sore for a while. One of his wounds got infected, probably from whatever he came into contact with in the Fade. Maker only knows what. I took care of it, and he should be just fine. He’s tired, but asking for you.”

“Thank you,” Dorian said.

Anders nodded and walked off.

Dorian inhaled slowly and approached the tent, steeling himself before he pushed open the flap and ducked inside the tent. It was decidedly warmer within, and he hid his trembling hands by clasping them together behind his back as he locked his gaze on Callum, who sat propped up on his furs as best he could, his armor and leathers removed, bare from the waist up, his chest and shoulder wrapped in white bandaging.

He looked small, sitting there, the furs covering his lower half as he looked up at Dorian and smiled tiredly. How he could still smile after all he’d been through today was a mystery, but Dorian appreciate it nevertheless. It left the knot loosening further.

“You should rest, _Amatus_ ,” Dorian advised.

“I will,” Callum said, stifling a yawn. “I just… I didn’t…” He frowned. “Don’t laugh.”

“I would never.”

The rogue sighed heavily, looking away. “I already know I’m going to have nightmares. So I just… didn’t want to be alone.”

“I see,” Dorian said, hating that he didn’t realize this sooner. “In that case, I am yours. Where would you like me?”

Callum smirked at him. Dorian braced for a lewd comment, having set himself up perfectly, but it never came. Instead, Callum patted next to him. “Just lay with me, please?”

“Very well, _Amatus.”_

He could deny him nothing right now.

He moved to sit next to Callum. “The others will wonder where I am, if I stay the night.”

“They know we’re together – is it so bad if we share a tent?”

“I suppose not,” Dorian said, smiling faintly. It was so different here than it was in the North. Back home, he’d scramble to have his ‘fun’ and then hurry home, or quickly kick his partner out before his parents found out. Usually the servants – slaves – kept quiet unless his father specifically asked, which he usually did not. But here – it was accepted. No one cared that he was with another man. They could be open about their relationship in a way that was never possible in Tevinter.

He liked it.

More than liked it.

Callum lay down slowly, wincing somewhat as he did so. “Thank you, Dori.”

“It is not a problem, Callum.” He settled down next to him, resting his head comfortably. With the rogue this close, close enough to hear his breathing, he found he could close his eyes. “Get some rest, _Amatus_. I am here.”

Callum hummed under his breath, already drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always thought it was crap that you couldn't save both of them in the Fade. And yes I know in the game it's Hawke or (Alistair) or (Stroud) you have to pick from, but Hawke was already ahead, so he went through with Bull, and Emry, Theron and Alistair were bringing up the rear, and Callum of course waited like he does in the game, so xD But, so, this is my remedy to the whole 'you have to leave a companion to die in the Fade, sorry' bit of the game. Why the hell do I have to do that, DAI? Huh? I have a nifty, rift-creating mark on my hand, don't I? Why can't I stay and use that or something? Ugh. Anyway. So, yeah, my remedy for that xD Hope it sounds okay.


	47. Adamant Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one is really 'over' what happened in the Fade, even those who weren't physically present in the Fade. Conversations are had by many. Or, exactly what it says on the title - Adamant Aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally about 2.1k longer, but I chopped it off. It meshed better with next chapter, plus then this chapter was nearly 8k, lol. So. Yeah. I cut it in half. Sorry. Not sorry. Anyway, sorry not much happens in this chapter - it's mostly just a bunch of talking. I'll try to fix that soon, but I feel like they could use a bit of downtime. Hopefully it sounds okay. Comment? *she asked hopefully* :D

Chapter Forty-Six: Adamant Aftermath

 

Dorian woke to whimpers.

His eyes opened, and he glanced over at Callum, reaching for him as he rolled toward the rogue. “ _Amatus_ ,” he whispered softly, fingers connecting with Callum’s shoulder, “wake up – it is only a dream.”

Callum woke violently, swinging at Dorian. The back of his hand connected with Dorian’s nose, leaving him yelping as he pulled back, releasing the rogue. Almost instantly, Callum’s hands were on him, patting the wounded area as a candle was lit, illuminating the area. Callum’s guilty expression was almost too much.

“Sorry,” Callum said. “I’m sorry. I’m not – you shouldn’t wake me when I’m… I just… I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“I am fine,” Dorian said. The hit hadn’t been hard, merely startled him more than anything. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Callum said, predictably.

“I do not think you know the meaning of the word.” He scowled at the rogue, who shrugged, looking sheepishly at him. “A nightmare?”

“Yeah,” Callum sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face as he looked away. “Sorry I woke you. It was… selfish of me, to ask you to stay, knowing I wouldn’t get much sleep because of this.”

“Nonsense, _Amatus_.” He hesitated only briefly, before he reached out and caught Callum’s hand, lowering it from his face. “Ah, there we go – there’s that handsome face I adore.”

That elicited a smile from the rogue, at least, however small it was.

“Would you like to discuss your nightmare?”

The smile faded. “Not really,” Callum said, looking away again. “But perhaps I should. I do owe you an explanation for waking you in the middle of the night.”

“You don’t,” Dorian told him, “but I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”

“Thank you.” The rogue drew in a slow breath. “The Fade was… difficult. I don’t know how else to describe it. I don’t know what it’s like for you when you dream, but it wasn’t like this, I can assure you. At least, that’s what Hawke said.”

“That sounds apt,” Dorian said, nodding. “In dreams, the Fade is twisted to fit your needs, and seem familiar to you. It is usually demons attempting to trick you. You were there physically, so it would have been the raw Fade itself. What… What was it like?”

His curiosity was getting the best of him. During his studies as a child, he’d had a hard time curbing that curiosity as he wanted to know about absolutely everything. Why things were the way they were, why this was that, why, why, why… and his instructors grew tired of it all, of all the questions and the look of wonder he no doubt always wore. That look would get him into trouble, they told him – he needed to focus on his studies and not go looking for such questions.

He felt like that child again, asking those questions.

Callum didn’t tell him to stop.

He merely bit his lip and attempted to answer to the best of his ability.

“Green,” Callum finally said. “Various shades of green. Rocky formations everywhere. Up was down and down was up. I don’t know. It was complicated. I’m sorry – I’m not the best storyteller. Perhaps Varric should have been with us; he could have given you something worthwhile.”

“Nonsense; you’re doing fine. Keep going. Green, you said? Like your hand?” He nodded at said left hand.

Callum nodded, flexing his hand, curling the fingers inward briefly. “Yeah, just like the Anchor and the rifts.” He shifted uncomfortably, averting his gaze. “The Nightmare, the demon Corypheus allied himself with… it was huge. Massive. The size of it alone was terrifying. It… taunted us as we wandered the Fade, looking for a way out, after it realized we were there.”

“It didn’t know you were there at first?”

“No. That only happened after… Oh. I didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Dorian asked.

“I remember what happened, now,” Callum said, looking at him again. “At the Conclave, the Temple of Sacred Ashes. When… When the explosion happened. I remember what happened.”

Dorian’s eyes widened. “You remember?”

“I had to… _reclaim_ my memories.”

“Reclaim them? What, were they stolen?”

He meant it as a poor attempt at a joke, but Callum’s mouth settled into a firm line.

“Yeah,” he said. “The Nightmare stole them right after they happened, right before I jumped back through the rift and landed outside the Breach, and got captured by those soldiers.”

“Wait – _stole_ them? But why?”

“I don’t know – it’s what it does? It feeds on memories of fear and pain? I don’t know. But it stole them.” Callum shrugged.

“How did you get them back?”

It sounded complicated; Dorian couldn’t fathom simply reclaiming one’s memories, but then, he couldn’t picture something simply stealing one’s memories, either. It was all so foreign to him.

“I don’t really know – it doesn’t make much sense,” Callum told him. “I killed some demons and they dropped – pieces, I guess. I reclaimed them with the Anchor, and… well. Now I remember, let’s leave it at that.” He shook his head, sighing. “Anyway – the Nightmare found us, and… it _taunted_ us. It… it spoke to us, and it knew things about us, Dorian. It was in our heads.”

“I imagine that was unpleasant.”

The rogue laughed hollowly. “A bit of an understatement, but yeah. _Unpleasant_. It…” His expression twisted, brows furrowing together harshly as he closed his eyes. “It knew my name was Schuyler, said it for… for everyone to hear.”

Dorian’s heart ached at that expression alone, not to mention the tone of voice. “That must have been difficult.”

“It spoke of my family. How I… How I let them die. How I was a coward for letting them die, how I ran away, and…”

“Nonsense,” Dorian said sharply, causing Callum to flinch, though he kept his eyes closed. “You aren’t a coward. You ran because you had to; you would have been killed as well, had you not. That doesn’t make you a coward. Tell me you didn’t believe anything this demon said.”

But he could tell by the look on his _amatus’_ face that he _did_ believe what the demon said – that he _still_ believed what it said. That it got to him.

“It said you thought I was pathetic,” Callum continued quietly.

“Never,” Dorian told him firmly. “Do you hear me? Never.” He tightened his grip on the hand he still held, certain that both of them had forgotten about it until then. His face burned at the thought, but nevertheless, he held that tightly, entwining their fingers. Callum squeezed his hand back, releasing a shuddering breath.

“Everyone knows, now,” he murmured. “Bull, Emry, Theron… they all know. About my past, my family, my name… They know, and I didn’t tell them.”

“I’m sorry, Callum. But perhaps it’s better they know, and you didn’t have to go through that conversation again,” Dorian said, because he remembered how painful it had been, the first time Callum told him. And he had to get mostly drunk before he could tell Hawke; perhaps it was best the opportunity was stolen from him this time. Now the others knew without him having to do anything.

“But it wasn’t my choice,” Callum argued. “They know, and I didn’t _choose_ for them to know.”

“Would you rather them still be in the dark?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.” Copper-green eyes skittered away. “I wanted to tell them, eventually. But I just… not yet. I didn’t want to tell them yet.”

He wasn’t ready for more people to know; he was barely ready for Hawke to know, or Dorian. And now the opportunity had been stolen from him, ripped from his mind and spread to those around him, and he felt cheated and worst of all, exposed. Dorian’s heart ached sympathetically.

“How do I face them?” Callum asked quietly.

Dorian squeezed his hand again, clutching at the fingers. “The same as you do every day. Nothing has changed. They will not look at you differently simply because of this.”

“How do you know?”

“Trust me, _Amatus_.”

“I do,” Callum sighed. “More than anything.”

That warmed his heart. “Then know that they are your friends, and they won’t let the demon’s words get to them. They probably won’t even bring it up until you do. Do you look at them differently, for what the demon said about them?”

“No, of course not,” Callum said instantly, scowling at the very thought.

“There you go – how can you expect differently from them?”

“I suppose you’re right. Thank you.”

“I am merely stating the obvious.”

Callum cracked a small smile. “Still – thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never find out.”

“Promise?” Callum’s voice trembled, cracking in the middle of the word despite his smile.

_That is not a promise I am sure I can truly keep… but I shall try._

“Promise,” he said, and leaned in for a kiss.

xXx

Callum slept little through the night, but he woke feeling better the next morning.

He slipped out of the tent, careful not to wake Dorian, still feeling guilty about rousing him during the night. The necromancer looked so peaceful in his sleep, sprawled beneath the sleeping furs and blankets. Callum smiled at him briefly before he slipped away, allowing the tent flap to close behind him.

Adamant Fortress was in ruins; he doubted it’d ever be the same, but perhaps that was okay. It had seen a lot of evil recently. A lot of needless sacrifices. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the Grey Wardens right now. It was true they’d been coerced and manipulated, but that didn’t mean they weren’t at fault. They had good intentions… but sometimes good intentions led down dark roads, and they had to take responsibility for their actions.

They couldn’t blame everything on Corypheus and his Nightmare. They were the ones who chose to sacrifice their friends, their brothers and sisters, their allies. They chose to sacrifice their warriors so that their mages could gain demon allies. Even Clarel had killed a friend, ready and willing to accept a demon ally. She would have done so, too, if Hawke had not convinced her of the truth – that she was being manipulated, and it was wrong. She should have been able to see that it was wrong, though; siding with demons was _always_ wrong. It didn’t matter that they thought they were doing it for a good reason. It always, _always_ backfired when it came to demons, and blood magic.

He sighed, shaking his head as he stepped over the fallen bits of rubble. The dragon did a number on this place, to be sure. It would never be the same. Whatever happened to the dragon, anyway? Did it truly stay away after Clarel blasted it with her dying breath? He’d been a little busy running at the time, attempting to _not_ fall into the chasm…

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” Emry asked, causing him to turn. The elf sat on a larger piece of rubble, leaning against the wall, messing with his bow. “No offense, Cal – but you look like shit.”

“Thanks, princess,” Callum said, rolling his eyes. “I couldn’t sleep. What about you?”

Emry scowled, sunset eyes narrowing. “Every time I close my eyes, all I see are demons. I suppose I have you to thank for that.”

“I’m sorry, Em.”

The elf sighed. “I suppose the alternative was dying, so… it’s not your fault. Still. It’s not something I ever want to do again.”

“Me neither.”

“Even though you’ve done it twice now?”

“Ugh, no,” Callum said, grimacing. “I barely remember the first time, anyway. If I never see the Fade again, it’ll be too soon.”

“Well, with that mark on your hand, I suspect you’ll be seeing it again soon.”

Callum sighed heavily. “That’s really _not_ what I want to hear, Em.”

“Tough. I’m not sugar-coating it for you.”

“Yeah… you never did.”

He sat next to his friend on the large piece of rubble. It wasn’t comfortable, not exactly, but it was better than standing. He slouched forward, bowing his head slightly as he sighed again.

“Everything’s a mess.”

“It is,” Emry agreed.

“Not helping.”

“I’m not a helpful person.”

“Yeah, you never were.”

“Don’t know why you put up with me.”

“Been wondering that myself,” Callum said, smirking faintly.

Emry snorted. “Next time you go tromping through the Fade, leave me out of it, yeah?”

“Will do. Too much adventure for you.”

“And we don’t even get paid.”

“I don’t think we’re getting paid for any of this, actually.”

“ _What_? And you’re just now telling me this?”

Callum chuckled, glancing at his friend, who looked back at him in mock horror. “I’m glad you’re here, Em.”

Emry shifted a little, features softening. “Yeah, well… someone has to look out for your sorry ass.”

“Oh, and that’s your job, is it?”

“Of course.”

He shook his head, a comfortable silence falling over them as Emry went back to tuning his bow, pulling at the bowstring.

“Are you… okay? After the Fade, I mean,” Emry asked, after a few moments of silence.

Callum sighed, leaning back against the wall. “As okay as I can be.” _Thanks to Dorian._ “What the demon said… what you heard about me… It’s something I wanted to tell you, but I just… it’s hard. It was always difficult to talk about. I’ve only ever told two people, and that’s recent.”

“Let me guess – Dorian.”

Callum glanced at him. “He was the first I told, yes.” He drew in a slow breath. “I also recently told Hawke, after we got a bit drunk.”

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Emry asked, looking away from him.

Callum read the hurt in his gaze. “You were the first one I wanted to tell, Emry. You were my first friend after it happened, and… of course I wanted to tell you, but I was scared. Scared you’d think of me differently if you knew. Knew how I ran, how I lived and they… _didn’t_.” His voice grew quieter the more he spoke, and he glanced away, hands curling into fists at his sides. “I wanted to tell you more than anything, but it was just… hard. And then the stuff with the time-traveling blood mage happened, and… and… you moved on, and I didn’t want to disrupt your life, and then you joined the Inquisition and we were just starting to become friends again so I couldn’t just spring it on you… and now that demon’s gone and stolen the opportunity from me… and everything’s such a _mess_.”

It was silent for a long moment.

 _He hates me. Again,_ Callum thought. _I really am pathetic._

He was just about to stand and move away, give Emry the space he seemed to want, when the elf spoke.

“You once told me your family was killed,” Emry said quietly. “Something about a fire. And we were in Tevinter looking for a blood mage. The one who took you into the future, right? That one?”

“Yeah,” Callum said softly, still not looking at him, gaze focused on little bits of broken rubble on the ground, “that was him.”

_That was the guy who murdered my family._

“Why would he have your family killed? Why kill them?”

“I don’t know,” Callum said, shaking his head. “From what I’ve gathered, apparently in the future, or… the future he came from, I was a tyrant. He came back with the time amulet to kill me, but wound up killing everyone _but_ me.”

_So it’s my fault. It’s all my fault they’re dead. I’m so sorry…_

“How could you be a tyrant?” Emry asked.

Callum shrugged helplessly. He couldn’t see himself as a tyrant, but then – he didn’t know Schuyler Trevelyan. He didn’t know that other him, the one that grew up with a family, loved and wanted and married off to some noble girl, who grew up to great things. He didn’t know how that life played out; he didn’t know how he turned out, or what happened to him. He had no idea how he became a tyrant, but apparently it was possible.

“Maybe he was lying,” Emry said. “He was crazy, after all. He’d have to be, to attempt time magic.”

“I guess,” Callum murmured. “But he was certain enough to trap himself in the past and murder an entire family, and hunt him again once he realized I was still alive.”

“That’s why you changed your name and hid.”

He nodded. “He was expecting to kill the whole family. He counted the bodies, Em.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”

“I only escaped because my brother brought his girlfriend with him that night. So there was an extra body. I don’t think he knew what I looked like at that age, or even how old I would have been; it must have been a shock for him to time travel to that time. I think he meant to go back further, perhaps kill my parents before they had me or something, but something went wrong. Anyway… he only counted bodies.”

It was hard, talking about it.

He escaped because someone else took his place. An innocent life took his place that night. His whole family was innocent; the killer was only after him. It didn’t matter that he was only ten at the time, an innocent child himself. He was the target… and yet he was the only one to survive.

_I shouldn’t be here. It should have been me, and they should have lived._

He wondered if this guilt would ever go away. Somehow, he doubted it.

“Callum? Cal? Hey.”

A hand landed on his shoulder, causing him to flinch slightly. He blinked a few times and glanced over at Emry, who sat closer than before, watching him with narrowed eyes.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Callum said, swallowing. “Just tired. Think I’ll get some more sleep, actually. Thanks for, uh… listening to me.”

“No problem,” Emry said, eying him like he didn’t believe him. He was always too perceptive for his own good. Nevertheless, he released him and allowed him to get to his feet. Callum pushed away from the rubble and walked a few feet away before he turned back, glancing at the elf who sat watching him.

“I’ll talk to you later?”

“Of course,” Emry said with a nod. “Go get some rest. I’m sure Dorian’s worried about you.”

“You’re being nice to him now, are you?” Callum asked, smiling weakly.

“He’s good for you,” Emry said quietly. “In ways I never could be.”

“Em…”

“Go,” Emry said, shaking his head. “He’s probably looking for you by now.”

Callum nodded, and walked away.

xXx

Dorian woke to silence.

That in itself wasn’t entirely unusual, but he remembered waking through the night to either whimpers to quiet breathing next to him, so the sudden silence was alarming. He sat upright and looked around the tent, lit by the glow of the sun outside, and found himself alone. Frowning, he climbed out from under the blankets and stretched, muscles a little stiff but otherwise fine.

Where was Callum?

The rogue hadn’t slept much the previous night, and thus Dorian hadn’t slept much, but surely he would have heard him wake and leave the tent. Or had he truly been so tired he slept right through that? Callum wouldn’t have woken him, either, he knew; he would have felt guilty about the nightmares, and let him sleep. Dorian sighed, shaking his head; stupid, reckless rogue.

He put on his shoes and pushed open the tent flap, exiting the tent. The cool morning air greeted him, along with the morning sun. It was still fairly early; everyone else seemed to still be asleep save for those keeping watch, with small fires going. He could smell food cooking, and realized he was more than a little hungry. How long had it been since he’d eaten? Since any of them had eaten? Well before the battle.

He looked around, and found Callum approaching him, scowling somewhat.

“Sorry,” the rogue said before he could say anything, as he stopped in front of him. “I didn’t mean for you to come looking for me. You should be sleeping; you look exhausted.”

“I could say the same of you,” Dorian told him, because it was true. Callum was pale, with rings under his eyes, evidence of his restless night. “Are you hungry? Perhaps we should eat.”

“I’m fine.”

“Ah, but, you see, I’m famished,” Dorian said, suspecting that would be Callum’s response.

Callum smirked slightly. “Well, in that case… perhaps we should eat.”

Dorian gestured for Callum to lead the way. The rogue took the lead and headed toward one of the small fires. Varric looked up from the fire and smiled at them.

“Hey, Dicey, Sparkler,” he greeted them, shoving a bit of food toward each of them. “Better eat up while you can, before Hawke eats it all.”

“Where is he?” Callum asked, taking a seat to eat his food. Dorian sat next to him.

“Waking Theron and Zevran, I believe.”

“And Fenris?”

“Broody’s on his heels, yes.”

Callum chuckled. “I have a feeling he’s going to be attached to him for a few days.”

“You joke, but we all thought you were dead for a time,” Varric said idly, poking at the fading fire, coaxing it into further life. Dorian shivered despite the warmth offered by the fire, remembering the very time about which Varric spoke. “It’s going to take a few days for some of us to wind down.”

“It wasn’t a picnic being in the Fade, either,” Callum said.

“Didn’t think it would be, Dicey.”

“You started eating without me, I see,” Hawke said, joining them. He grabbed his own food and settled down to eat, sitting on Callum’s other side. Fenris sat on Hawke’s other side, and Theron and Zevran joined them.

“You’re looking decent for a sacrificial idiot,” Theron commented, nodding at Callum as he accepted his food.

Callum scowled, even as Zevran rammed his elbow into Theron’s ribs. Theron grimaced, tossing Zevran a glare.

“What Theron means to say is, ‘thank you for not abandoning me to die in the Fade’,” Zevran said, with a pointed look at the Warden. “Isn’t that right, _mi amor_?”

“What he said,” Theron muttered, jutting his thumb toward Zevran.

“Uh… right,” Callum said, shaking his head.

Dorian focused on chewing his food, though he could no longer taste it. He was still angry with Callum about that – the fact he chose to stay behind in the Fade. He _chose_ it. He _chose_ to linger, _chose_ to be left behind _, chose_ to possibly die there…

And this was not okay. Not okay in the slightest, and they needed to discuss this. Dorian needed to shout at him for it, argue sense into him, but he knew doing so in front of everyone was not a wise decision. It would have to wait until they’d both gotten decent sleep, and were away from prying eyes. Perhaps when they were back at Skyhold, then. When they were safe, and he could shout at him to his heart’s content.

He listened quietly as Callum, Hawke and Theron spoke of the Fade and what they experienced – all details he heard from the rogue the night before – and continued eating his food, though he’d mostly lost his appetite at this point. Maker, when did he get to this point? When did his mind latch onto a topic, a _person_ , so much that it stole the taste of food from him? In Tevinter, the very idea of this was absurd.

But in Tevinter, he reminded himself, there was no Callum.

He glanced at the rogue, watching as he spoke with Hawke, a smirk playing on the edge of his lips as he waved his hands animatedly, describing actions he took in the Fade, praising how Hawke kept his head. He remembered the confusingly complicated man he first met after he first fled from Tevinter so long ago; how aloof he could be one moment, and how quiet and reserved he could be the next. It took a long time for Dorian to get a read on him… sometimes he still wondered if he understood him completely, and he doubted if he ever would, but perhaps that was part of the appeal. Not knowing everything.

In Tevinter, everyone was an open book because everyone tried to be so guarded. It became tiresome.

“Cullen is leading most of our forces back to Skyhold later today,” Hawke was saying as Dorian tuned back into the conversation. “There’s still much to do here, but I’m ready to get away from the sand for a while. I’ll be joining him.”

Callum nose twitched. “Is that your subtle way of telling me to stay here, Inquisitor?” he asked, quirking a brow.

“That is entirely up to you,” Hawke said, shaking his head. “I’m not your boss.”

“You’re not? Aren’t you everyone’s boss?” Zevran asked, and then winced when he was elbowed by Theron. “You have pointy elbows, _mi amor_.”

“I’m with him,” Callum said, nodding at Zevran as he smirked. “Aren’t you my boss? Doesn’t Bull call you ‘Boss’s Boss’?”

Hawke sighed, rolling his eyes. “I’m not your boss. You’re my equal, _Herald_.”

Callum grimaced. “I don’t know if I like that. I don’t want to be in charge.”

“Tough. You get sent on just as many important missions as me, so you’re in charge with me. We’re co-running this thing.”

“Co-Inquisitors,” Dorian said. “I like it.”

Callum shot him a glance. “Not you too.”

“It has a certain appeal.”

“It really doesn’t.”

“I think you’d make a fine Inquisitor,” Hawke said, and then laughed. “Just imagine – in another life, you might have _been_ Inquisitor! Had you not found me for the Seeker, she never would have been able to even ask me.”

“Had we not found you,” Callum said, “you would have probably died from that infection.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Hawke said, rolling his eyes.

“I would not have allowed that to happen,” Fenris said instantly.

“Of course not,” Callum said, nodding. “You would have found Anders yourself.”

Fenris’ lips curled, but he said nothing.

“What about you?” Callum asked, glancing at Theron. “You’d make a fine Inquisitor. Hero of Ferelden, and all. If they hadn’t found Hawke, I’m sure they would have hunted you down next.”

“No thanks,” Theron said, shaking his head, smiling faintly. “Saving the world once was enough for me. I’ll leave all that to you.”

“You’re stuck with me,” Hawke said. “Co-Inquisitor Callum.”

“Ugh, please no.”

“It has a nice ring to it,” Varric said.

“Hush, you.”

“Come on, Dicey – it could be worse.”

“How could it possibly be worse?”

“Co-Inquisitor Herald of Andraste.”

“… Point taken,” Callum muttered distastefully, shaking his head as Dorian smirked at him.

“So, what’s your plan? Do you want to stay, or come with us back to Skyhold?” Hawke asked.

Callum sighed heavily. “I don’t know.”

Dorian knew what his answer was – he wanted to return to Skyhold. He’d had enough of the Western Approach, even if they’d barely been here two days. It would be a long journey back to Skyhold, and if they needed to come back here, it would be a long journey back as well. They might as well get everything taken care of here, first, he knew. It was the most logical decision, and he knew that was weighing on Callum’s mind. However, he knew they both wanted to return to Skyhold as quickly as possible.

Hawke had been away from there the longest, so he had every right to wish to return for a while. Dorian would not fault him for that. However, he disliked that it meant he and Callum would probably be staying behind in the Western Approach, because he could already see the wheels spinning in Callum’s eyes.

Callum would forego comfort for a while if it meant them not having to return here later. Dorian knew his _amatus_ all too well.

Which meant his scolding would have to wait, sadly.

“I’ll stay,” Callum finally said, which was truly no surprise. Dorian sighed, resigned to staying as well. “What about you, Theron?”

“I think I will travel to this Skyhold,” Theron said, shrugging. “I would like to learn more about this Inquisition of yours.”

“A fine choice,” Hawke said, smirking at him.

“Alistair and Zevran will be joining me,” Theron told them.

“Of course,” Hawke said, before glancing at Callum. “Who will you keep with you here?”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” Callum said, frowning.

_Of course you haven’t. Fasta vass, reckless rogue…_

“I’ll ask for volunteers,” Callum finally said. “They don’t have to stay if they don’t want to. Who knows how long we’ll be here.” He glanced at Dorian, chewing on his lower lip.

“I am staying with you,” Dorian said, quirking a brow at him.

“I wasn’t going to ask,” Callum said.

“ _Festis bei umo canavarum,_ ” he muttered, glaring at him.

“Still don’t know what that means,” Callum told him, smiling tiredly. “But I’m going to assume I’m in trouble again.” He chuckled, looking sheepish, and a touch of Dorian’s irritation faded away. Only a little. “I wasn’t going to ask you because I thought you might want to return to Skyhold, not because I don’t want you with me.”

It was a conversation he did not wish to have in front of others, so he merely snorted and shook his head, glaring at his _amatus_ until Callum looked away to address the others.

Hawke would be deciding the fate of the Grey Wardens later today, before he left for Skyhold. He wanted Callum there with him, to offer support if not to help in his decision, since it affected him too. He was there, after all; he got dragged into it, literally. Dragged into the Fade. He was a part of this as much as the Inquisitor.

“Fine,” Callum said, “but I won’t be happy about it.”

“You never are,” Hawke said, waving him farewell as Callum and Dorian walked away from the little group.

They were almost back to their tent when Callum suddenly stopped walking. Dorian stopped and turned to face him, frowning when he found the rogue staring down at his hand, a grimace on his face.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing, I just…” He paused, and shook his head, flexing his fingers before wincing.

“It hurts?” Dorian asked, frown growing as he approached the rogue.

The closer he got, he noticed little green sparks of energy crackling from the Anchor. It usually was mostly dormant save for when there was a rift around, and since Callum closed the rift in the main hall after jumping out of it, there were no rifts nearby. It should not have been active at all.

“It’s been… a little sore, since the Fade,” Callum said quietly, curling his fingers in on the mark as he dropped his hand back to his side. “It’ll probably go away.”

“Why are you just now telling me this?” Dorian asked, scowling at him.

“I just thought it was typical soreness, really,” Callum said, “until it started… doing _that_. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to keep things from you.”

Dorian sighed heavily, shaking his head. “I know you’re not. Have you told any of this to Anders? Or Vivienne? A healer?”

“Like I said, I just thought it was because of what happened yesterday, until it started lighting up,” Callum said, shrugging. “It just hurts sometimes. I don’t know.”

“Does it… hurt often, like that?”

“Not really, I think going physically to the Fade just… made it more sensitive, that’s all. Hopefully it’ll die down soon.”

Dorian nodded, and they started walking again. They made it back to their tent, and went inside.

“Alright,” Callum sighed, once the tent flap closed behind them, “let’s have it, then. Lay it on me.”

“What?”

“Whatever you’re holding back – whatever lecture you have planned. Let’s hear it.”

Dorian’s lips thinned. Even if he knew this conversation had to happen, it was not something he was exactly looking forward to.

“Later, _Amatus_ ,” he said finally. “You look tired, and I know you didn’t sleep well last night. Perhaps after a little more rest, I shall tear into you.”

“Kinky,” Callum said, smirking at him, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His tired eyes. He nodded. “You’re right, of course – I should probably sleep while I can, before Hawke sees to the Grey Wardens later, and then we’re stuck here a while longer. I’m sorry you’re stuck with me, Dorian – you can go back to Skyhold if you want. I didn’t want you to feel as though you’re stuck here simply because I’m staying.”

_As if I am ever leaving your side again, you fool._

“Nonsense,” he said aloud, shaking his head. “We are a team, are we not?”

Callum chuckled, smiling at him. “That we are. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Of course – who else would you snuggle into at night?” And a part of him couldn’t believe he was saying those words aloud – who knew who could be listening outside the tent, after all – but this was not Tevinter, and he was free to say it as he pleased here.

Callum’s laugh was worth it. “Who indeed?” he said, doing exactly that, his body warm against Dorian’s, his mouth hot and pliant against his own. “You’re perfect.”

Dorian smiled as their mouths parted. “But of course I am.”

“Don’t ever change.”

“I shall endeavor to remain the same.”

“Good. And when we’ve rested some more, and dealt with the Grey Wardens, you can chew me out to your heart’s content,” Callum said, laying down with a yawn.

Dorian watched him for a moment, before he lay down next to him. Sleep did sound quite nice, and he was tired too; it would be a little while before it was time to deal with the Grey Wardens, and Hawke would most likely fetch for them.

It was only as he listened to Callum’s quiet, even breaths, tapering off in sleep, that his eyes finally drifted shut on their own, and darkness claimed him as well.


	48. Pathetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A breath of fresh air for Callum might spell doom for someone close to him. Or, Callum overthinks a little too much, and there are consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter - hope that's okay. It had a good stopping point xD I might change the chapter title, not sure yet. Hope everything sounds okay.
> 
> Comments?

Chapter Forty-Seven: Pathetic

 

Hawke and Callum wound up recruiting the Wardens for the Inquisition, despite everything they’d done. The two of them had discussed it; Hawke was angry with the Wardens, but knew they needed them, and if left to their own resources, Corypheus might try this again. Or the Wardens might become too bitter and angry, and do something worse. Who knew. Callum, though angry with them – how could they do this? – knew they were desperate, recalled his conversation with Anders and knew how much it must have taken for someone like Anders to come to him in the first place, and realized the Wardens were in a tight spot. But that was no reason to use blood magic, or sacrifice half of their members to gain demons.

Still – they were desperate, and manipulated in their weakest moments, and coerced by a demon and Corypheus and magister from Tevinter, Erimond. Still. There was no excuse. None, for what they did.

Callum was torn on what to do – banish them from Orlais and be done with it, and lose Blackwall as a member of the Inquisition as well because Blackwall would not stand to see the entire Grey Warden group cut down like that, for one ‘mistake’, or accept them into their ranks and teach them better.

It was… difficult.

But in the end, they decided to accept the Grey Wardens, because yes, they were in the wrong, but didn’t everyone deserve a second chance? And this way, it was decided, they could at least keep an eye on them.

So they conscripted the Grey Wardens for the Inquisition.

Not everyone was happy about it – Bull grumbled and complained, as did Sera, and Cole wasn’t particularly pleased, nor was Emry who muttered about traitorous Wardens at his back now, but at least it was done.

Shortly after that, Hawke left with Cullen, taking the majority of their forces with them.

Callum asked for volunteers to remain behind with him and Dorian, as he would not force anyone to stay; if they wanted to leave and return to Skyhold, he completely understood.

In the end, he, Dorian, Iron Bull, Emry, Anders, and Cassandra stayed behind.

They left Adamant Fortress, aware that there was a decent spot for camping, according to Hawke, not far from here, if they wanted to get away from the rubble and the reminders. Callum didn’t think that was a bad idea; he was all too willing to escape Adamant and its reminders, finally. Maybe he’d actually get some decent sleep for a change, but somehow, he doubted it.

They traveled until evening, before they made camp on a dusty hill with a good view all around them, good for seeing incoming attacks. As they pitched their tents and made a fire, a dragon flew by overhead, roaring as it did so. Bull looked up with an excited shout and a “tell me we’re fighting her, Boss”, while Emry scowled with a quick “ _another_ dragon?” and Cassandra merely sneered at it distastefully.

“Well,” Callum said, watching it fly away, “Hawke did mention people thought they saw a dragon…”

“These people were also out of it from the toxic pits,” Dorian said, scowling at the retreating form of the beast. “So it is unclear what they saw.”

“Well, hopefully if we don’t bother it, it won’t bother us,” Callum said.

“Yes, because that worked so well last time,” Dorian said, sighing.

“Hopefully this one doesn’t have a bunch of babies roaming around.”

“Let’s steer clear of it nevertheless, shall we?”

“Aw, but Boss, you promised me a dragon fight.”

“How about we kill Corypheus’ dragon, hmm?” Dorian asked. “Will that suffice?”

Iron Bull muttered under his breath but didn’t argue. Callum smirked as he finished pitching his and Dorian’s tent. They’d all have to share tents, but that was okay, because he and Dorian typically shared anyway. He wasn’t sure how the others wanted to split it, but that was between them.

Callum pitched his and Dorian’s tent a little away from the others, mostly so if he woke with a nightmare through the night, the others wouldn’t hear him whining or screaming, hopefully, unless he shouted at the top of his lungs. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. Hopefully, now that they were out of Adamant Fortress, they could forget all about that and he could leave his nightmares behind him.

“I’ll take first watch, Boss,” Bull said, “if you want to get some sleep.”

“I will take second,” Cassandra said, while Anders quickly crafted a fire in the newly made fire pit.

“What about sleeping arrangements?” Emry asked. “I’m tired, so I’d like to know where I can sleep.”

Callum ducked inside his tent, leaving them to sort out their own sleeping arrangements. He was in the process of removing his armor when Dorian joined him inside the tent, setting his staff to the side, next to Callum’s daggers. He’d need new ones soon; his were chipped from his journey in the Fade, and no matter how he cleaned them, they still held an eerie green glow much like the mark on his hand, or the ‘sky’ in the Fade. When they returned to Skyhold, he’d have to go unto the forge, the Undercroft, and craft himself some new ones; those were old anyway, and they’d recently gathered some new schematics for some slicers, which he was eager to try out, if able.

“You seem tense,” Dorian said, taking off what qualified as his ‘armor’, even though, to Callum, it was a glorified robe. He wished Dorian would wear more armor in battle, but he wore enchanted robes, which was what all mages wore, including Anders, Solas, and Vivienne, so he couldn’t really complain too much. Still, he just wanted Dorian to be safe, and seeing him in something so thin left him a little uneasy, despite the enchantments.

“Just a little,” Callum said, shrugging as he removed the last of his armor, tossing it aside. He’d have to get new armor, too; a shame, really, considering that armor had been new before their trip to the Hinterlands. He felt like he’d broken a gift; guilt gnawed at him as he looked at the dented and partially shredded armor, the claw marks still visible despite the patchwork fix Cullen and a few of his soldiers had attempted before they left. It would have to do for now. It was all he had on him.

“I know just what you need.”

“Oh, do you?” Callum asked, quirking a brow at the mage.

Dorian nodded, approaching him. “Yes, of course. Remove your shirt.”

“Demanding,” Callum said, lips twisting in a smirk. “I like it.”

He focused on Dorian’s face a moment longer, watching the faint blush there, even as Dorian kept his expression the same otherwise, before he did as he was told and removed his outer shirt and under shirt, tossing them both aside. He shivered slightly, bare chest exposed. Dorian’s fingers pressed lightly against the bandages along his shoulder and middle, from the claw marks. Callum caught his fingers and pressed them along the bandaging more firmly.

“I’m not made of glass,” he said. “I won’t break. It’s mostly healed, just a little sore. I probably don’t even need the bandaging anymore, it’s just a precaution.” He smiled, catching Dorian’s gaze. “I’m fine, Dori.”

Dorian scowled at him. “You are many things, Callum, but I fear _fine_ is not one of them.” Then he sighed, and smiled faintly. “Not yet. But that is why I am here, yes?”

“Of course.”

“Lay down on your stomach.”

“You know, I could get used to you giving directions.”

Callum did as instructed, and lay on his stomach on the bed of furs. A moment later, Dorian settled in behind him, sitting on the back of his legs. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just unexpected, which left him sucking in a quick breath as he fought the urge to look back. He had never had anyone this close to his back before – his very exposed, very naked back, with his daggers not within reach.

_But I trust Dorian._

He trusted Dorian with his life.

Had he ever completely trusted someone so whole-heartedly? Even Emry?

Emry had been his best friend, and he’d trusted him to keep him safe in a fight and watch his back, but did he trust him to do what Dorian was doing now? If Emry had instructed him as Dorian had… would he have done it? He thought about it, but couldn’t be certain.

And then Dorian leaned forward, and his hands were pressing into the stiff muscles of Callum’s back and shoulders, and _Maker_ , it felt _so good_.

He moaned happily, going completely flat on the furs.

Dorian’s smooth chuckle was warm in his ears. “I could get used to you like this, _Amatus_.”

“I could get used to this, too,” Callum murmured happily. “Maker, you’re amazing. Don’t ever stop being amazing.”

“This doesn’t hurt, then?” he asked, and Callum realized where his hand was. If he pressed down much more, it would shift the injury on the other side of his shoulder, but it didn’t bother him right now. Right now he was too relaxed, all those tense muscles loosening, finally.

“No,” he said honestly. “It just feels great.” A breath. “Thank you.”

“It’s only fair. You have given me massages.”

“Yeah… but that doesn’t mean you have to give them to me.”

“Turnabout is fair play, or so I’m told.”

Callum chuckled quietly, sleepily. “In that case, massage away, Dear.”

Dorian’s hands stilled if only briefly, before they continued their movements, pressing and pushing against Callum’s skin. No one had ever done this to him before – his instructor, when showing him the art of massage, had attempted it, but Callum hadn’t appreciated it then; he’d grimaced the whole way through it, and had only grown more stiff as it went on, not less, to the point his instructor finally stopped and taught Callum by having Callum do it to him instead.

But this… this was nice.

This was great.

 _Perfect_.

It was perfect.

_I think… I think I’m really falling for you, Dori…_

And that could be quite dangerous. He’d never felt this way about someone before. He’d never had a relationship before, either, of course, but this – he’d never felt _this_ , this tight feeling in his chest, the worry, the fear, the _love_ …

It was a whole slew of emotions all rolled into one and he couldn’t… he couldn’t process it all half the time. All he knew was Dorian made it both easier and more complicated, but being away from him was… unpleasant.

But what was it he said?

Oh, yes. Right.

No declarations of any kind after a harrowing event – it was the adrenaline, the hormones, talking. No declarations after sex, either. It was the hormones.

He wasn’t sure when the right time to tell Dorian any of this would be – he wasn’t sure he could even quite admit it to himself yet. But he wanted to tell Dorian. He wanted him to know… even if Dorian didn’t quite feel the same.

But what was it Dorian called him?

 _Amatus._ Right.

And what did that mean, again?

Beloved. Right.

So… he did feel the same, didn’t he? At least a little? So hopefully Callum wouldn’t be completely rejected, when he finally said something.

Maker. He was getting tense just thinking about it.

He exhaled slowly, and forced himself to relax and focus only on Dorian’s wonderful fingers.

“You know,” he murmured, sleepily, a few minutes later, “if this whole ‘mage’ thing doesn’t work out… you have a calling as a masseur.”

Dorian’s laugh was warm and bright and everything Callum loved hearing as he drifted off to sleep. “I’ll keep that in mind, _Amatus_. But I think I’ll stick with just massaging you, shall I?”

“ ‘m certainly not arguing.”

“Sleep, Callum.”

“Mm…”

He drifted off to sleep with Dorian’s warm, nimble hands on him, and the sound of his smooth, melodic voice in his ears.

xXx

Callum woke with a start, a shout ready on his lips, but he bit it back at the last second once consciousness slammed into him. Cold sweat dripping from his brow, he shivered as he sat up, Dorian’s arm falling away from him. The mage could be quite the octopus when he slept, Callum noted with a fond, albeit tired, smile, as his breathing slowly returned to normal. Dorian mumbled something at the movement, brows furrowing somewhat, but he thankfully stayed asleep, expression evening out once again.

Callum shivered again, and let the sleeping furs fall away from him, piling them onto Dorian to keep him warm. He pushed to his feet, stretching, certain that he would not be getting more sleep – at least not right now. Perhaps later. Hopefully later. Maker, he was exhausted – at this rate he would never _not_ be exhausted.

He put on his boots as quickly and quietly as he could, hesitated over his daggers before finally deciding to strap them on just in case, and finally slipped out of the tent into the frigid night air. Night in the Western Approach could get below freezing quite easily; he should have brought a coat with him, but he’d be fine by the fire, hopefully.

He made his way up the narrow path toward the fire, where a lone figure sat as a shadow against the flickering flames. At his approach they stiffened, before turning to offer him a quick smile.

“Hey, Cal,” Emry said, eying him briefly. “You still look like shit. Nightmares?”

Callum scowled. “How do you always _know_?” he muttered, shaking his head as he sat on the ground beside Emry, feeling the warmth of the fire batter against the night air. The battle sent chills down his spine, bumps along his skin, but he ignored it as best he could, focusing on his friend.

“About the Fade?” Emry asked.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t let that Nightmare get to you.”

“Rousing speech, Em. You should make more of them. Truly uplifting.”

Sunset eyes rolled toward him. “You want uplifting? Go to your lover. You want facts? Here I am. If you let that _thing_ get to you, even after you outsmarted it, then its won.” He shrugged, then said simply, “Don’t let it win.”

Callum exhaled slowly. “I wish it were that simple, but I can’t just turn my mind off like that.”

“What are you dreaming about, exactly?”

“I don’t know… it keeps changing. But this past time it was…” He stopped, hesitating. Then he sighed, looking away from Emry, instead focusing on the flames of the fire. “I dreamed of my family’s death.”

It was quiet for a long moment, save for the crackling of the fire as he watched the flames climb higher, flickering away into nothing before another spark arose in its place.

“Oh,” Emry said finally. “I’m… sorry, Cal.”

“It was so vivid,” Callum said quietly, staring into those flames. He knew he was in the Western Approach, and the wind blew the smoke away from him, but he could still smell it so close to him, suffocating him as he ran from the flames, ran from his home, ran from – Maker, he was such a _coward_.

“…-lum? Hey. Callum.”

Fingers waved in front of his face, snapping him from his thoughts. He sucked in a quick breath and looked at Emry, who watched him with a worried frown. He remembered that look all too well – he saw it often enough as they trained together, and worked together, and-

“You kind of zoned out on me,” Emry said, halting his thoughts. “Are you okay?”

“Just tired,” Callum sighed, shaking his head as he looked away again, back into the flickering flames. By now his gaze was dotted red and orange anyway; even when he looked away the flickering outline remained, haunting him.

“Go lay back down; Anders has next watch anyway.”

Callum shook his head again. “No, that won’t help.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“You’re so incredibly stubborn,” Emry sighed heavily. “So you’ll have nightmares – big deal. That’s what Dorian is for, right? To help you with them?”

Callum shot him a nasty look, but the elf wasn’t looking at him anymore. He, too, stared into the flames as though they held life’s secrets. Somehow, Callum very seriously doubted they did. Fate would not be so cruel as to hide the answers in the very thing that took his family from him, took his home from him… not once, but twice. Haven flashed briefly through his mind; watching his cabin burn, feeling that familiar helplessness wash over him…

“I won’t wake Dorian because of my nightmares; he needs his rest,” Callum said. “Also, that’s not what he’s for. He’s… special, to me. And I don’t want to burden him.”

“So you haven’t discussed your nightmares with him?” That earned him Emry’s gaze again, it seemed; sunset eyes locked onto him, and he scowled at the archer.

“He knows I’m having nightmares, but he doesn’t know what they’re about, no,” Callum said. “I’ve only told you.”

“I feel so special,” Emry said sarcastically, much like old times.

How Callum wished it could be ‘old times’, but sadly, nothing would ever be as it was. That time had passed, and nothing would bring it back. Not while this mark on his hand lingered, not after that blood mage had flung him into the future, not after all that had happened…

Everything was different now, with echoes of the ‘same’, and it hurt.

For the first time, he would admit it.

It hurt.

Being the Herald of Andraste, however wrong that title was, _hurt_.

It robbed him of a normal life – whatever he classified as normal. At the time it happened he’d been running from… something. Always running. This allowed him to run no further. It robbed him of his freedom. His freedom to choose his own life, his own name, everything.

It stole chances and opportunities and it was _wrong_.

And it was permanent. He’d never be rid of this Anchor, no matter how many times Dorian attempted to persuade him otherwise. He knew Dorian would look into things, would search high and low for a way to remove it – such was his way, after all – but in the end… it was permanent. He’d always have this, even long after the Inquisition no longer had need of him. When they defeated Corypheus – _when_ and not _if_ because he couldn’t think like that right now, not on top of everything else – there would be no use for him anymore, especially after the rifts were all closed everywhere. While that might take years, it would eventually happen – and then where did that leave him, exactly?

He wasn’t the Inquisitor; he had no proper say in the Inquisition, no matter what Hawke said. That was Hawke’s job, and he was welcome to it. Callum wanted no part of it. However, that left him adrift after everything was said and done. After there was no longer a need for him… what then?

He’d still bear the mark, the Anchor. But he’d no longer have a purpose.

The mark would still hurt him. Still ache and throb, as it had been lately, he thought. It used to only truly do it near rifts. It would ache occasionally, but never crackle and glow as it did sometimes now, even so far away from rifts. It was worrisome. He tried to downplay it for Dorian – why worry the mage further? – but the truth was, he was concerned about it himself.

What was it Solas once said?

Oh, yes.

He stopped the mark from killing him, but it was only temporary. Something to that effect, anyway. Meaning it was slowed, but it would… what? Consume him, eventually? _Consume_ him? What did that even mean? His mind couldn’t even fathom it.

He hadn’t told any of this to Dorian, of course.

He wanted to. He didn’t want there to be secrets between them.

But that would only worry Dorian, make him anxious to find a way to remove the Anchor, and the truth was, it was permanent.

He hadn’t told anyone what Solas said. He thought Cassandra and his advisors knew, because they’d been there at the start, but beyond that – he didn’t think anyone else knew, and he wasn’t going to tell them.

Why bother? There wasn’t anything they could do.

He hadn’t thought much about it himself – the temporary ‘not killing you anymore’ aspect, anyway – until recently, as the pain intensified, and it kept… _glowing_. Occasionally. It had only happened twice now, once with Dorian present, but it left his hand, wrist, and lower arm so very sore for hours afterward…

This was new, and unwanted, and it wasn’t _fair_.

It _hurt_.

It wasn’t supposed to _be this way_. He wasn’t supposed to be some Herald of Andraste. He was just Callum. And if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t even supposed to be _Callum_. He was supposed to be Schuyler Trevelyan, youngest son of a noble family. Where that life would have taken him, he’d never really know. Whispers of his tyranny only told him so much, and they could have been lies, but why would the blood mage risk so much to come back and kill him… if it were all lies?

“Callum?”

Callum blinked, focusing on Emry, who sat up against him, hands firm on his shoulders. Narrows sunset eyes were directly in front of him, as he’d been turned to face the elf.

“Breathe,” Emry said firmly.

Callum sucked in a shaky breath, then another, and another, until they weren’t so shaky anymore. He hadn’t realized he’d been practically hyperventilating until now.

Emry’s grip loosened on his shoulders, but did not release him. “Good. Keep breathing. That’s it. Calm down. What happened?”

He swallowed thickly, mouth dry. “I… I just…”

 _Started thinking, and couldn’t stop,_ he wanted to say.

But that was silly; stupid. _Pathetic_.

The Nightmare’s words echoed through his mind, in Corypheus’ haunting voice.

A shiver rushed down his spine, straightening his back as he quickly looked away.

“It’s nothing,” he said finally, shrugging off Emry’s grip on his shoulders. Emry hesitated, but thankfully released him. He pushed to his feet, and stepped away from his friend. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Is that the best idea?”

“You know I like my walks.”

“You used to,” Emry said. “Haven’t seen you go on one in years.”

“Yeah, well…” He didn’t exactly have a response to that. Okay, he _did_. He could say that Emry had _lost faith in him_ , had _abandoned_ him, had _given up on him_ , and that was why he hadn’t seen Callum go for a walk in years. He hadn’t been _around_ in years. But that felt harsh – it had been just as much his decision as Emry’s. Emry lost faith and left, yes, but it was Callum’s choice to stay away. A bed of his own making.

So he stayed silent on the matter.

“Is that safe?” Emry asked as he started walking away.

“I have my daggers.”

“Daggers won’t save you from a dragon, or the Venatori.”

Hawke had warned them about whispers of Venatori agents scattered throughout the Western Approach. Dorian looked ready to take them on, but also tired. They were all tired after the Fade, even if they weren’t the ones who entered it physically. It was an ordeal unlike any other.

“Daggers work _wonderfully_ for the Venatori,” Callum said, rolling his eyes even though he still faced away from Emry, walking away from him, not slowing his pace at all. “And they took down that last dragon well enough, right?”

“Your _mark_ did, yes,” Emry called to him. “At least tell Dorian where you’re going. I’m sure he could use some spell to find you.”

Callum snorted at the mere thought. It would handy if that were the case – he could think of some _fun_ they could have if so – but no, there was no such spell, at least not one that didn’t involve blood magic. Not that he knew of. Perhaps there was, but if so, Dorian would have most likely used it by now.

So, no.

“I won’t go far; I’ll be fine on my own,” Callum called back, disappearing down the hilltop they’d settled on.

xXx

_I am going to kill him._

Dorian tromped through the frigid night air, staff held firmly in his right hand as he used it to help him walk every time he tripped. Maker, it was _dark_. He could use magic to light the way, of course, but then if a battle arose – which, knowing Callum, was entirely possible – he would be short on mana when he needed it most. So, he held off, barely.

Emry woke him roughly an hour ago, startling him from his sleep. He was very nearly the recipient of a fireball to the face, but at the last second Dorian composed himself and settled for glaring at the elf until he stated exactly why he was in Dorian’s tent and why he was waking him. He knew the watch schedule; Anders should be waking him, not Emry.

Emry then told him Callum walked off alone, which left him jumping to his feet as he cursed in Tevene, snarling as he grabbed his staff and exited the tent with Emry right on his heels. Emry told him that Callum said he wouldn’t go far, and he did have his daggers, but that meant little to Dorian.

Dorian found his trail easily enough – sand left a trail, after all, unless the wind wiped it away and it wasn’t long after Callum left camp – and began to follow it. That was an hour ago.

He’d called out for Callum several times, but had never received a response. By now he was so turned around he wasn’t sure where camp was – vaguely to the left, he thought. He could always retrace his steps, but he wouldn’t be returning without that blighted, reckless rogue.

_When I find him I am going to kill him._

“Callum?” he called again, words stolen by the night wind.

_Amatus, where are you?_

He said he wouldn’t go far, and Dorian couldn’t have been far behind him. Where was he?

He’d lost Callum’s footsteps a while back; they’d gotten fainter and fainter, as though the wind wiped them away here, but they seemed to be leading in this direction. He hoped he was right.

“Callum! This is not funny. I swear when I find you I am going to kill you. Do you hear me?”

Now he was snarling into the wind. Wonderful.

He was perfect scion of House Pavus, of course.

Could anyone hear his sarcasm? No? Just him, then.

“ _Amatus_ ,” he whispered into the wind, the breeze stealing those words as well. It was cold, and dark, and he couldn’t see very well, and he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore. He wanted nothing more than to curl up back inside their tent, or by the warm fire, but not until he found that blighted rogue.

“Callum!” he called, a little louder now. “Cal-”

He made a wrong step, then, and the sudden paralysis left the breath oozing from his frozen lungs. Unable to move as he stood atop the paralysis glyph, he managed to move his eyes downward, glancing at the glowing display he now stood on, announcing his presence. Around him emerged figures, stepping toward him. The glowing crystals hinted at their staffs. Mages. Hooded. Nearby.

 _Venatori_ , Dorian’s mind supplied, as his body remained motionless.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

 


	49. On Deaf Ears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian gets a new collar, and Callum is a self-sacrificing idiot. Or, the Venatori are a force to be reckoned with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where this chapter came from. Honestly. But oh well. Angst galore, my friends. Enjoy?
> 
> PS: I might delete this chapter. So.

Chapter Forty-Eight: On Deaf Ears

 

Dorian despised paralysis glyphs. They left a nasty taste in his mouth, left his fingers and toes tingling, and gave him such a headache from the strain of _trying_ to move. His body refused to do so, however. He was helpless as the seconds turned into minutes and the Venatori agents surrounded him. If only he could flick his wrist – the magic was _there_ , but he could not _release it_ …

He was helpless, and he _loathed_ feeling helpless.

“Get a collar on him before that glyph wears off,” one of the Venatori said, and ice hit Dorian’s veins as a snarl lodged in his throat, very uncouth of him but he didn’t care.

A collar, truly? A mage collar? He’d heard of such things but had never seen them in Tevinter. But now as a Venatori agent moved toward him with a collar he strained against the paralysis, grunting as he struggled. Surely it would be wearing off any second now. Any second now, he could get free, and-

The collar snapped into place around his neck, locking closed with an ominous click. Instantly he felt drained, his connection to the Fade severed. The glyph wore off then, as though mocking him. He collapsed to his knees, feeling drained and pathetic, grip trembling on his staff as he summoned a spell which didn’t arrive. He had no magic, not so long as this blighted collar remained on his neck, and he didn’t have the key for the lock. It was strict and confining and if he was being honest, a little too tight, making a little hard to breathe.

His staff was stolen from his fingers, robbing him of any safety he might have had. Now he was truly helpless, and he hated it.

“Are you certain this is an agent of the Inquisition?” a Venatori asked, scoffing. “I see nothing to fear, if that is the case.”

That was… apt. He’d been stumbling along, looking for Callum, and his guard had been down, yes, but that was… rather rude, for them to call him nothing to fear. He was a necromancer, after all – he used fear as a weapon. If he had his magic right now…

If he had his magic right now. But he didn’t. He couldn’t access it because of this blighted collar. He’d let himself be collared so easily. They were right – he was pathetic.

He’d let his guard down and had let it come to this.

“Nothing to say for yourself, Inquisition? A pity. I would have hoped you lot would have had more fight in you, but I suppose we’ll take the easy win.”

Easy win? Dorian was not an _easy win_.

As hands grabbed at him he struggled. He shoved the two people away, pushing to his feet on his own. He turned to run – he’d find some way to get this collar off, Bull could break it or Callum could hopefully pick the lock, as a rogue – but was stopped as he was rammed into from behind, tackled to the ground. He hit the dirt hard, inhaling a mouthful of it, before he coughed and attempted to roll over and scramble back to his feet. He was pinned, however, and hit over the head for his efforts. As his vision swam, pain ringing in his ears, he felt his arms grabbed and yanked behind his back. Thick, coarse rope bound his wrists quickly, scratching against his skin.

_Kaffas, what have you gotten yourself into?_

His situation was just getting worse and worse, and _where was Callum_?

The others would start looking for them soon, he knew, but that did little to calm his racing heart as he was yanked back to his feet by a rough grip on his arm. They might already be out looking. How long had he been searching for Callum before this? He couldn’t remember.

He was then dragged away, weakened as he was, head aching and wrists chaffing. The collar around his neck hindered his breathing somewhat, and left him feeling drained. He hated it more than anything – the loss of his magic. He’d never felt so useless.

The further they walked, he couldn’t help but look back at their fading foot trail. The wind was picking up, hiding the evidence – how would anyone be able to follow him, and find him, now? He’d have to escape on his own, but without access to his magic he wasn’t quite sure what to do. He’d never trained with anything else. Perhaps Callum would let him practice with his daggers after this, if he ever got out of this. He couldn’t always rely on his magic.

In Tevinter, he never had to worry about this. In the south things were much different. You either had to hide your magic from the Templars and become an apostate or be locked up in a tower. He trained in a tower, in several of them, yes, but he wasn’t locked up in them. He could come and go as he pleased – it was merely where he received his training. Not so here. And now these collars, and the Rite of Tranquility… he could not rely solely on his magic here. He wished he’d thought of this sooner, but he’d always been confident in his abilities. Until now.

Until he was helpless without his magic.

Something brushed against his back, briefly but there. He stiffened and turned his head over his shoulder, glancing behind him, but he saw nothing. Frowning, he chewed on his lower lip as he was pushed forward roughly, for hesitating. Two Venatori still had a grip on his arm, one of them not a mage while the other was one, and of the two leading the way, one was a mage and the other was an archer, bow held carelessly in their grasp as they didn’t expect any trouble, not with their prisoner. Perhaps they assumed they could use him as leverage. He scowled at the thought.

He wasn’t entirely certain what happened in the next few seconds, as it happened too quickly.

Another brush against his back.

Then the ropes binding his hands were cut.

A dagger sank into the back of the warrior on his left, barely piercing the thick armor, while its twin sank into the back of the mage who struggled to get a barrier up in time. He didn’t manage to do so, and he went down with a cry, releasing his hold on Dorian’s right arm. Dorian shoved at the warrior, unable to think with everything happening so quickly, and staggered away from his captors, looking around quickly because there was only one person who could be helping him like this.

Callum yanked his dagger free of the mage’s back, eliciting yet another cry from the downed mage. He quickly slit the mage’s throat, twirled both daggers in his grip, and got back to his feet as the other three Venatori surrounded them. Dorian’s hands were freed, but he still didn’t have access to his magic, nor did he have his staff. Nevertheless he picked up the fallen mage’s staff – he could at least utilize the staff blade, hopefully, or use it as a melee weapon, though his reflexes were not as sharp as Callum’s.

“Where have you been?” he hissed at the rogue through clenched teeth.

“Following you for the past few minutes,” Callum snapped back, glaring at him. “Why did you come looking for me? I said I was fine!”

Dorian opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off as an ice spell was flung his way. He jumped back and hit the ground gracelessly, looking quite undignified. Quickly, he hurried back to his feet. “I am useless with this collar on,” he informed Callum.

“Yeah, yeah, I can’t work on it right now,” Callum said, raising his daggers to meet the incoming swip of the warrior Venatori’s greatsword. He wavered under the heavy blow, and then ducked, pushing the blade away and using the man’s own momentum against him, causing the blade to sink into the sandy ground momentarily. In that moment Callum quickly moved behind him, slashing at him with both of his daggers.

An ice spell slammed into Callum’s back, leaving him staggering to his knees, shivering violently. The warrior loomed over him, raising his sword.

 _No._ Dorian’s mind blanked.

He lunged forward, charging with his staff blade ready as he released a shout, catching the warrior off guard. The warrior hesitated, turning slightly to face Dorian, and the staff blade imbedded itself in the warrior’s side as he turned. Callum rolled out of the way of the warrior, slipping into the shadows, disappearing from view, but Dorian knew he was not alone.

An arrow whizzed past his face as he quickly moved back, aware that standing in one place too long was harmful. The warrior was wounded but not out, and Dorian yanked the staff blade out of his side. The armor the warrior wore was thick and sturdy; breaking through it was tough. Callum wounded him with the backstab, but unlike with the mage it hadn’t been a killing blow.

More arrows whizzed past his face as he quickly kept moving. The collar made it hard to breathe, and all this movement was leaving him somewhat breathless. He was tired, fatigue heavily weighing on him, but he kept moving because if he stopped it would be the end. The warrior swung his sword at Dorian. In an act of pure instinct he brought the staff up to block it. The blade cleaved the staff in two, but thankfully it did not cleave _Dorian_ in two. He staggered back from the impact nevertheless, holding two separate halves of the staff now, nearly toppling over his own feet in his haste to get away.

He heard a dying choke, but couldn’t risk glancing over to see who had fallen. It hadn’t been Callum’s voice, that was all that mattered.

The warrior swung at him again. Dorian scrambled backward, nearly tripping over his feet once more, careful to keep his eyes focused on the blade. If he didn’t he would surely die, and Dorian Pavus would not fall to the likes of the Venatori. He would _not_.

An arrow shot past his eyes. Had he not moved as he did, he surely would have been shot right through the head, which was a troublesome thought. No more spells were being flung from the Venatori mage, though – perhaps that was who released that dying sound earlier.

“Dorian! Here!”

He took his eyes off the warrior for only a second, just to see Callum tossing his dagger at him, easily balanced so the grip would come at him first. Dorian dropped the broken pieces of the staff and caught the dagger just as the warrior swiped at him again. The sound of metal on metal rang in his ears, a sharp biting sound which left his ears ringing momentarily.

He shoved the dagger against the blade, the feel of it strange in his hands. As he pushed away from the warrior, scrambling backward once again, this time he _did_ trip. He tripped over his own feet in his haste to dodge another swipe from the massive sword, and landed gracelessly on his bottom, his tailbone connecting harshly with a small rock on the ground. At this disadvantageous angle he could only look up as the warrior loomed over him, bringing the sword forward to stab him through the chest. He brought the dagger up even as he closed his eyes, but he had little hope it would connect, as it was not his forte.

But the strike never came.

He opened his eyes warily, and found the blade stained red but stopped just in front of him. Callum de-cloaked with a choked gasp, as the sword was pulled from his gut, and all Dorian could do was stare as he sank to his knees.

_No. No, no, no!_

“ _Amatus-_ ” he choked, scrambling forward, reaching for him with trembling hands. “ _Amatus_ , look at me-”

Callum choked around words and breath, mouth open in a silent gasp as he reached for Dorian with pale hands. Already so pale.

 _No, no_ -

The key twisted in the lock, and the collar fell from his neck. Instantly he felt the magic flowing through him again, as Callum’s hands fell back down, and he collapsed further on the ground. Dorian was torn between catching him and destroying their enemies in revenge.

The warrior spared him the choice, lunging at them both.

Dorian’s gaze flickered away from the downed rogue and he snarled as he raised his hand, flinging spell after spell at the warrior. He couldn’t say what spells he used – he couldn’t remember what words his mouth twisted around, what magic he summoned, all he knew was he wanted the warrior to hurt, to _bleed_ , to pay for what he did.

Doing magic without a staff wasn’t impossible, though it was much easier and less draining with a staff. He was already exhausted, and soon had to stop flinging spells.

The warrior was dead after the second spell – he needn’t keep going, but he had. He had.

Now he stared at the downed enemy, that bloodied sword dropped harmlessly at their side. He looked around, but all of their enemies were dead. Callum must have taken out the archer as well, before he-… before he…

He sucked in a ragged breath and turned back toward the rogue. Callum’s lips were turning blue, and his face was too pale, not to mention there was a pool of blood around him from his stomach wound. Dorian’s trembling hands pressed down on the wound as a weak, “ _Amatus?_ ” left his lips.

Callum’s eyelids twitched, but didn’t open. His breaths were these ragged, trembling things, as though breathing took more energy than he had. Dorian pressed down harder on the wound, attempting to heal it as best he could, but he was no healer. He knew so little of healing magic. He swore, if they made it through this, when they got back to Skyhold, he would learn all he could in the art of healing. He would. He _would_.

Just let him live. Let him live.

“ _Amatus_ , look at me,” he said, attempting to keep his voice stern and focused. When it didn’t get any further results other than more twitching of the eyelids, his resolve broke a little. “Callum – _look at me_.”

The rogue’s eyes opened, but only just, revealing dark green slits. So dark. “D-Dorian…”

“You are not allowed to leave me, do you understand?” Dorian said, pressing down harder on the wound, desperation clawing at him. He couldn’t heal this. It was too much. He couldn’t fix this, and he had no idea where they were, or how far away camp was, or – or _anything_. “You’re not allowed,” he said again, blinking back the wetness in his eyes. “I forbid it.”

“D… Dori…”

Fingers scraped against the dirt, reaching for him. How could he deny him this?

He couldn’t.

He removed one hand, and clutched at the rogue’s cold fingers, attempting to force warmth back to them.

“You are not allowed to die,” Dorian said again, breaths shaky as a sob lodged in his throat. He couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t fix this. Maker, he couldn’t _fix this_. “Do you hear me, Callum? _You are not allowed_.”

“ ‘m… ‘m s-orry…”

The rogue’s voice was this raw, scratchy thing Dorian hated hearing.

“You stupid, foolish, _reckless_ rogue,” he muttered, swallowing thickly. “Why would you do that? Why would you take the hit for me?”

“ ‘cause I…” Callum broke off into a coughing fit, blood specking his lips. He never quite regained his breath afterward, but kept speaking nevertheless. “ ‘cause I l-ove you…”

Dorian exhaled sharply, shakily, a sob on his lips. No one had ever said that to him before. And here Callum was, saying when he was-… “No. You don’t get to do that,” he said, unable to keep his voice from trembling. “You don’t get to say that when you’re… You don’t get to say that right now. Remember? You have to be hale and whole when you say it – those are _your_ rules.”

Callum smiled weakly, the faintest twitching of his lips as he squeezed Dorian’s hand. “N-ot gonna… have t-ime… later…”

“ _No_ ,” Dorian choked, “ _stop it_. Stop it. You’ll be fine. I just… I just need to heal you. Just need to get you back to camp. Which way is camp? You’re better at directions than me, so just… just help me.”

“No r-regrets,” Callum murmured, blinks becoming longer, the first whispers of sleep. “No r-egrets…”

“ _Stop it_ ,” he said again, shoulders trembling. Then, loudly: “Help! We need help!”

Surely the others would have come looking for them by now, right? How long had it been? Surely they were searching for them. They had to be. They _had to be_.

“We need help!” he called again, louder this time.

“ ‘m… s-orry… D-ori…”

“Apologize when you’re better so I can properly yell at you,” Dorian said, focusing all of his willpower into healing magic, but he knew so little of it. He was a _necromancer_. Not a healer. He dealt with dead things, not living.

_I’ll bring you back. I’ll bring you back, I’ll fix this._

He’d find a way. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, let this be the end.

“L-ove…” The hitch in Callum’s breath cut off his words.

_No. No, no, no – not yet. Don’t go. Not yet. Not him._

The words swirled through Dorian’s mind. A prayer to anyone willing to listen.

_Please not him._

“Don’t do this,” he found himself whispering around a sob. “Don’t you do this, you – you foolish rogue! Why did you do this!”

_Why did you take the hit for me? I am not worth it. We need you, not me._

They needed the Herald of Andraste, not Dorian Pavus.

He’d rather die a hundred deaths than watch this happen. Than let this happen.

_Please._

“ _Amatus_ – _Amatus_ , look at me-”

Callum’s gaze had gone cloudy, his blinks long and slow.

He tightened his grip on Callum’s hand, painfully so. He would have bruised, if not crushed, fingers later, but at least it left a little clarity returning to his gaze. The mark on his left hand pulsated, zapping against Dorian’s palm. He swallowed, feeling energy thrum through him.

Energy from the mark, energy from the Fade-mark, energy he didn’t question, energy he put immediately into healing Callum.

Did he have any healing potions on him?

No. He hadn’t thought to grab any as he stormed out of camp in search of the rogue. He was such a fool.

“Don’t leave me,” he breathed, watching Callum choke for breath, blood staining his blue-tinged lips. He swallowed, and bent over, pressing his lips lightly against those blood-stained ones, tasting that metallic tang. “Please,” he whispered against those lips, “don’t go, _Amatus_.”

It was all he had left – pleading, as he tried to heal what he could. He could feel his magic doing work, mending the skin, keeping more blood from spilling free, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough. Callum needed more than that. He needed an actual healer. He needed Anders.

If Dorian could just keep him alive a little longer – keep him with him a little longer – then perhaps the others would find them. They had to be searching. They had to be. Surely Emry had woken them after he’d woken Dorian, perhaps not right away but after enough time had passed.

Surely they were looking for them.

He just had to keep Callum here with him a little longer.

But he’d lost so much blood…

The blade hadn’t gone all the way through, which was their only saving grace otherwise he would already be dead, but it had gone in deep enough. A stomach wound was not to be taken lightly, especially with this much blood. And Dorian was no healer.

Dorian’s lips trembled. He pulled back, looking at Callum. Copper-green eyes remained open, but they were so dark, as though the blood had stolen the light from them. The blood staining Dorian’s hands, coating his knees as he knelt in the puddle which was thankfully no longer growing…

It reminded him of so long ago, when he opened the door to his cabin in the Hinterlands, and Callum all but collapsed on him, bleeding out. While Emry rushed to get a healer from a nearby town, Dorian did what he could for Callum, to keep him alive until help arrived. He’d managed it then.

He managed to keep Callum awake and alive all the way to Redcliff, after the battle with the blood mage, too. He’d managed it then.

He could do the same now.

He had to.

“Talk to me,” Dorian said before he realized what he was saying.

If he kept him talking, he couldn’t slip away, could he?

Certainly not.

Not mid-speech, that would just be rude, and cruel, and… and…

“H-Hurts…” the rogue managed to push past reluctant lips, voice this weak, raw thing.

Dorian fought back a wince. He needed to be strong – no more crying. Maker, was he crying? He blinked back the tears. “Getting stabbed tends to hurt, but you’ll pull through,” he said. “You’ll be back to stabbing things in no time.”

_Just stay with me. A little longer. Stay with me._

“We need help over here!” he called out again, tearing his gaze briefly away from Callum to look around, but sadly, they were still alone. Desperation clawed furiously at him. “Help!”

_Someone. Anyone. Please. Don’t let him die._

“D-ori… s-s-top…”

He looked back at the rogue. “I will not stop, _Amatus_. I won’t let you die. I’ll… I’ll bring you back. I’ll fix this.”

“C-an’t…”

“I _can_ ,” Dorian said, furious. “I can fix this, or what good is my magic?”

What good was his magic if he couldn’t help those around him? What good was his magic if he couldn’t help those he… those he loved? What good was his magic if he couldn’t help Callum?

“ ‘s… okay…”

“It is _not_ okay,” Dorian said, vision blurred by the wetness in his eyes once more. “It is so far from okay they are not even in the same country, do you hear me?” He sucked in a shaky breath. “ _We need help_!”

Callum’s breath hitched again. His fingers clawed into Dorian’s as he arched off the ground briefly, expression contorted in pain.

Dorian squeezed his hand. “ _Amatus_?”

“… C-Can’t… b-b-reathe…” Callum said, panicking somewhat, mouth open wide as he strained for breath, his gasps quick and short. “… H- _Hurts_ …!”

_No, no, no. Don’t leave me._

“You can breathe,” Dorian assured him, swallowing back another sob. “You can breathe, _Amatus_. You’re okay. You’re okay. _You’re okay_.”

“… _-rian? Callum?_... _Where…_?”

The voices were faint, but he could just make them out. Shouting, not far from here. Oh, thank the Maker.

Hope was a fragile feeling, dangling on a broken string in Dorian’s mind, but he clawed at it nevertheless.

“We’re over here!” he shouted, not tearing his gaze away from Callum as he struggled for breath.

_“…Dorian?!”_

“Over here!” he said again. “Hurry! Bring Anders!” He swallowed and focused on the rogue, ignoring the returning shouts. “Hear that, _Amatus?_ Help’s coming.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Callum’s face, his fingers twitched once against Dorian’s, and then his eyes closed.

Dorian’s heart skipped a beat. “ _Amatus_?” he whispered, squeezing his hand. “Callum? Open your eyes. Look at me. Help is coming, you can’t just – _look at me_!”

Callum remained still and silent.

Silent?

With a sob Dorian lowered his head to Callum’s mouth, waiting, listening, but he could hear no shaky, choked breaths. Instead it was silent. Shoulders shaking, he tore his hand free of Callum’s and pressed his trembling fingers to the rogue’s neck, waiting, waiting, _waiting_ …


	50. Return to Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Healing is a slow process, for all involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, everyone. I lost inspiration. I'll try to update soon but no promises. Thanks, and comments are love <3

Chapter Forty-Nine: Return to Skyhold

 

A pulse.

Dorian nearly collapsed with relief, but there was a pulse.

He just wasn’t breathing.

“You’re not leaving me,” he said, moving closer to the rogue. “Do you hear me, _Amatus_? I will not allow it. Breathe, you fool.”

He pinched Callum’s nose closed and breathed for him, much as he had so long ago in his cabin in the Hinterlands. It had worked then, it would work now. It had to. _It had to_.

He breathed for him, and checked his pulse again. Faint, but still there. Weak and thready, but still there.

Still there.

“Don’t do this to me,” he whispered, breathing for him again.

And again, and again.

Footsteps quickly approached him. Hands grabbed his shoulders and roughly hauled him away from Callum. He clawed at the rogue, shaking his head – no he could not, would not, be parted from him, he had to stay with him, had to-

Bull would always be stronger than him, though.

He easily held him back, forcing him to his feet, leading him away as Anders and Cassandra took his place.

“What happened?” Emry snapped, suddenly next to him.

But Dorian couldn’t answer. Couldn’t answer because all that came out when he opened his mouth was this choked sob, which was… terribly embarrassing, if he were in his right mind, but he wasn’t. All he could do was stare at the motionless, breathless figure on the ground.

 _Please,_ he thought, pathetically. His father would be so ashamed with him right now, but his father’s opinion and approval no longer mattered to him.   _Please. Please._

“He’s breathing,” Anders said, and Cassandra pulled back.

Dorian’s legs trembled, but he remained standing. He wasn’t sure if that was because of his own determination to stand, or because of Bull’s grip on his arm.

_He’s breathing. He’s alive. They’ll fix him._

They had to fix him. Fix this. Fix Dorian’s mistake.

“Did you do this?” Anders asked, even as his hands moved, working healing magic over the wound. “It’s almost closed. I’m impressed.”

“Yes,” Dorian managed to choke. He did do that, but he wasn’t sure how. He had little knowledge of healing magic, but he just… he had to do _something_ , and the mark had given him some sort of push, some sort of energy, and he just… he put everything he had into fixing what he could, praying it would be enough.

“Bull, I need you to lift him, gently,” Anders instructed. “I can’t fix him here – we need to get him somewhere cleaner. All of this dirt is infecting him.”

“Is he safe to move?” Emry asked, voicing Dorian’s concerns.

“He’s as stable as he can be, right now,” Anders replied, shaking his head. “It’s the blood loss that worries me, but he’s breathing and his pulse is steady but weak.” He looked past Emry at Dorian. “Did he just pass out?”

Dorian nodded. “Just before you got here,” he said softly. “And he stopped… he stopped breathing.”

“It’s good you kept him awake as long as you did,” Anders said gently. “That really helps. You did good.”

Did he? No, he didn’t. He was the cause for this in the first place.

He looked down at his hands. His blood-stained hands.

“Where is your staff?” Emry asked, as Bull moved past Dorian to gently pick up Callum’s broken form. The rogue looked so small against the qunari.

“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. He honestly had no idea, and it was the furthest thing from his mind. It didn’t matter.

Only one thing mattered to him at the moment.

“What happened?” Emry continued. A hand swatted his shoulder, grasping his arm, keeping him back from where he wanted to go. “Hey, I’m talking to you. Give them room to work, and they’ll move faster without you hovering over them. What happened here, Dorian?”

Dorian swallowed thickly. “I was… I was looking for Callum. I made a mistake, a foolish mistake, and stepped on a paralysis glyph. The Venatori found me, and… they collared me, and I was _useless_.”

He would have thought speaking about it would hurt his pride, or would just make him uncomfortable, but in truth… it didn’t matter anymore. None of that mattered because Callum was dying, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. What did it matter if he was collared? It was in the past. All that mattered right now was saving Callum.

“They caught you?” Emry asked. “Hey, look at me.”

It took longer than it should have, but finally Dorian glanced at him.

“Are you… alright?” Emry asked, frowning. “You’re not yourself.”

_I’m not myself. How can I be myself, after what happened?_

How was he supposed to be ‘himself’ after what happened? After watching Callum die before him, watching him bleed out with no way to stop it? After he begged him to stay, actually _begged_ , when Dorian Pavus did _not_ beg. How was he supposed to act after that? He didn’t know. He just felt numb. Shaky. Cold, come to think of it. It was chilly, and he couldn’t stop shaking.

“Huh,” Emry said, watching him carefully. “You really care for him.”

Dorian blinked at him. Was that in question? Perhaps he wasn’t the most tactile of lovers, and they didn’t do anything in the open, but he hoped he didn’t make Callum feel shunned or something. He hoped he showed he cared, in his own way. He did care. He did.

He cared more than he should have, because caring this much was dangerous.

And painful.

_Let him live._

“Do you love him?”

He stared at the elf. “I… I... What’s it matter?”

What did it matter, how he felt? Saying the words wouldn’t save Callum. He cared deeply for the rogue, more than he ever had about anyone else, but did he love him? He called him _Amatus_. Beloved. They were friends first, and it grew into something more, and he waited for him. He waited those seven long months, and then the year after. Waited when others gave up. Waited because he couldn’t bear the thought of giving up hope.

And now…

Callum said he loved him. Yes, it was under duress, with him… dying, and everything, but he said the words.

Did he love him in return?

He wasn’t sure he knew the meaning of the word, but he liked to think if he loved anyone… he loved Callum. He liked to think it was real. He liked to think it was love.

Why else would it hurt so much?

“It’s a simple yes or no question, Dorian,” Emry said, growing annoyed. “Do you love him?”

“Yes,” he said weakly, and felt… unburdened, after saying it.

He loved Callum.

But Callum was dying, and he hadn’t said the words. Hadn’t said anything because he forbade Callum to say them, because those were Callum’s rules and he was breaking them. No love confessions after sex, and not during life or death situations.

That was what he told Dorian.

And yet he’d said he loved Dorian, because he was dying, and he said there wouldn’t be time later.

Dorian was going to be sick.

He hunched over and lost the contents of whatever meal he’d previously eaten – he couldn’t even remember what it had been. It didn’t matter. Now it was just bile on the ground.

“I’m sure he’ll be okay,” Emry offered, after a moment of silence. “You kept him alive this long. He’s in good hands.”

Of course he was in good hands; Anders was good at what he did, despite whatever else anyone might think of him. Yes, he started the mage rebellion and the mage-templar war in the first place, but no one could say he wasn’t a great healer. If anyone could save Callum, it would be Anders.

Callum was in the best of hands – so why did that not make him feel better? Why was his stomach still in such knots, and the taste of bile still heavy in his mouth?

“Come on,” Emry said, grabbing Dorian’s arm. It was the first time the elf had willingly touched him in all their interactions, if Dorian remember correctly. There was no real reason to grab him, as Dorian was not falling or anything, and yet Emry willingly grabbed his arm and started leading him in the direction the others had gone.

Dorian didn’t fight him, only allowed himself to be led. It seemed easier than thinking, at the moment.

xXx

It took hours before Anders left Callum and Dorian’s tent, where he healed the rogue. Dorian paced outside, struggling not barge in and demand he be allowed to stay at the rogue’s side. Foolish, he knew. He would only be in the way, but being stuck out here with the others was increasingly frustrating, bordering on unbearable. Callum was so close and yet so far, and even if he were next to him, it would be the same, he knew. Callum was in a deep state of unconsciousness – he’d stopped breathing, after all. He was critically injured, and Anders needed space and time to properly heal him, or he’d die. It was a miracle he was still alive, Dorian was told. It was meant to be praise at his quick thinking and attempts at healing, but instead of easing his mind or stroking his ego, the words merely left bile rising in his throat once more, though he swallowed it down.

For six long hours Anders healed Callum alone in their tent, and Dorian could not help but let his mind wander back to the previous night. He’d given Callum a massage, had him laid flat beneath him, the rogue pliable beneath his probing hands. Callum’s words had been breathless and relaxed; things had been perfect then. Strange, how quickly things could go south.

In the span of one night Callum could be fine as Dorian massaged him, and then bleeding out on the dirt ground.

Dorian paced.

Iron Bull kept throwing him glances, but Dorian had no desire to imagine what sort of readings the qunari spy was getting from him. None of it mattered at the moment.

Emry tossed him a few glares, as did Cassandra; they were obviously irritated with his pacing, but he didn’t – couldn’t – stop. Pacing was the only thing keeping him from darting inside the tent and possibly distracting Anders from his vital work.

What would happen if Anders failed? If they all failed?

What would happen if Callum died?

There would be no one to close the rifts, or stop Corypheus.

The Dark Future would come to pass.

It might take a year for the world to end, but it would end that day for Dorian.

A shiver ran down his spine. It was so foreign to him, and strange, how much leverage Callum had over him. How much he cared about the rogue and his well-being. He’d known it from the start, of course; in those early days of fledgling friendship, he hadn’t want to lost the rogue then, either. Now it was just much more pronounced.

What would Thedas do if Callum died?

What would Dorian do?

It would be his fault. He’d no doubt be thrown from the Inquisition. Where would he go? What would he do? None of it mattered, if the rogue died on him now.

Whatever Thedas might do to him for getting the Herald of Andraste killed, it would be no worse than he deserved. Whatever they might do, it would be no worse than his own mind did to him, as guilt gnawed at him.

He paced.

Finally, after six long hours, Anders emerged from the tent, hands covered in blood but otherwise, he wore a tired smile.

“He’ll live,” he said.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone except Dorian, who darted past Anders and entered the tent himself. Callum slept on the bed of furs, shirt and armor removed. A fur blanket was pulled up to his chin, but no doubt beneath that he wore bandaging around his middle. Anders healed him, but the bandaging added extra protection against infection, just in case the wound reopened or he hit that area again.

Dorian stared down at the rogue for a moment, before he released a ragged, breathy exhale.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there before the tent flap opened, and Cassandra stepped in behind him.

“We will be leaving soon,” she told him.

“Leaving?” he echoed quietly. “He’s not well enough to travel.”

“Anders will be with him. He is going to sleep for a few hours, so he can regain his mana and attend to the Herald if needed, but then we are leaving.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going to start back toward Skyhold.”

That was a long journey; Dorian dreaded it as much as he looked forward to it. It would be nice to be back at Skyhold, _safe_. However, he wasn’t certain Callum was up for the journey.

“Are you certain he’s well enough to travel?”

He didn’t think Cassandra would put Callum willingly in any harm, but he still had to ask.

“Anders assures me he is stable. We will put him in a wagon; Emry found one not far from where we found you and Callum. The Venatori must have been using it to cart their cargo.”

And now they would cart Callum in it, as though he were cargo as well. The knot in Dorian’s stomach tightened.

“Very well,” he said, aware it was their only real option. Anders was no doubt keeping Callum asleep for the time being, so he wouldn’t further injure himself by moving as he no doubt would attempt to do upon awakening.

_Stubborn rogue._

Cassandra bid him farewell, and reminded him that they would be leaving in a few hours if he wanted to get any sleep now. Then she exited the tent, leaving him once again alone with Callum.

Dorian knew he would not get any restful sleep, so he didn’t even attempt to do so. Instead he crouched next to the downed rogue and attempted to wipe the blood off him. Anders had healed him, but hadn’t even taken the time to wipe the blood off his own hands, let alone Callum. Dorian could understand why, of course; Anders was no doubt exhausted after healing him, and slipped away to get some rest, giving no thought to appearance.

Dorian wiped the dry blood away as best he could, though it seemed to be stained into his skin. Callum’s brows knitted together briefly, and he stopped, watching the pale face momentarily. Callum’s face relaxed again, and he remained unconscious.

Dorian exhaled slowly, and continued doing what he could to wipe the blood away.

xXx

Callum surprised himself later and woke up.

Waking itself wasn’t really all that shocking; consciousness returned slowly, a low hum in the back of his mind, but gradually he made out voices, and the sound of a wagon of some sort moving, the wheels creaking. He could feel a cold wind on his face, leaving him shivering despite the mound of furs on top of him. Occasionally a warm hand touched his face, or brushed his hair away from his eyes.

Slowly, memories slid through his mind. Memories of pain, fierce and overpowering, and also fear. Intense, soul-stabbing fear. _This is it_ , he’d thought. And beyond the fear – sadness. Not for his own life, but those he left behind. He didn’t want to leave Dorian behind. Fear, that there were still enemies nearby, and someone might attack Dorian while he died on the ground.

_But I’m not dead._

The thought took a full minute to register. When it did, he almost denied it outright – he couldn’t be alive, could he? Except he was fairly certain the dead didn’t feel physically pain. With every jerk of the wagon his body shifted somewhat, and pain shot through him. He winced, and forced heavy eyelids open.

A blurry face greeted him, though they weren’t looking at him. After several long blinks his vision cleared enough for him to properly see the face. Dorian looked terrible, like he’d been the one ran through with a sword instead of Callum. There were dark rings around his eyes, and his face was paler than usual; he was usually quite tan, after all. Now the pallor stood out, even in the moonlight.

For a long moment, Callum merely stared at the mage.

Eventually, Dorian seemed to notice someone was watch him, for he looked around with a small frown, before his gaze finally settled on Callum. His eyes widened, and Callum smiled weakly at him.

“Hey, Dori,” he said quietly, breathlessly, too tired to put much effort into it. Why was he so tired? How long had he been out? Where did they get the wagon? Why were they traveling? He had so many questions, but not the strength to ask them at the moment.

“You’re awake,” Dorian said, equally breathless, though for entirely different reasons, Callum would wager. “ _Kaffas_ , you’re awake. _Festis bei umo canavarum!_ ” He inhaled deeply, releasing the breath slowly. “How do you feel? Silly question – of course you’re tired and don’t feel well, you were stabbed through with a sword. Which was stupid and foolish, by the way – taking the hit for me, I mean.”

Callum blinked slowly, watching the way Dorian’s mouth formed his words. He had a pretty mouth, even with that thing he called a mustache.

“Are you listening to me?” Dorian asked, and Callum realized he must have spaced out.

“Sorry,” he murmured tiredly, “your… mouth is distracting.”

He couldn’t be certain due to the moonlight, but he thought he saw Dorian’s cheeks darken slightly. “The things you say. But truly – how are you, _Amatus_?”

Warmth slid through Callum despite the chill in the air. “I’m fine,” he said, and then winced at the scowl which lined Dorian’s face. “Alright, alright – I’m not _fine_ , but… I’m okay. I’m alive, which is more than I expected.”

The more he spoke, the easier it got, though he was still exhausted. Exhausted and so very sore.

 _But I’m alive_ , he thought again. _How am I alive?_

He had a feeling asking that question wouldn’t go over very well with Dorian at the moment.

“Of course you’re alive,” Dorian said in response to his earlier statement. “It simply wouldn’t do for the Herald to die saving an evil Tevinter magister.”

“You’re not a magister,” he said, smirking tiredly. “And last I checked you weren’t evil, unless you did some blood sacrifices while I was out.”

“Sadly, no sacrifices,” Dorian said, shaking his head. “Unless you count your self-sacrificing ways.” Those eyes narrowed into thin slits as the mage glared down at him.

“I couldn’t let him hurt you,” Callum said quietly.

And that was the truth.

When he saw that warrior getting ready to slash his sword at Dorian, to possibly impale _Dorian_ , something inside of him snapped. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow that to happen. So he simply stepped between the two, as it was all he could do at the time. The pain was worth it, if it kept Dorian safe. His death was worth it if Dorian lived.

The breath Dorian released was more than a little ragged. “And you thought I could handle _you_ -…” He cut himself off, Adam’s apple bobbing. “You foolish, _foolish_ rogue. Reckless. Do you know what would happen if you died? The Dark Future would come to pass!”

Callum winced. Right, the Dark Future. It was why he needed to be careful; the Inquisition needed his hand, after all. Not him, but his hand. It was what was important. The mark, the Anchor. Not Callum.

“I couldn’t let you die,” he said, because it was his only defense. He couldn’t and wouldn’t let Dorian die, not if he could help it. If that meant he had to die in his place… then so be it, Dark Future be damned.

Dorian frowned deeply; he’d have permanent frown lines if he kept that up. “And you thought… what, exactly? That _I_ could let _you_ die? That I could _watch_ you die?”

Callum winced again, at the tone of Dorian’s voice. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m selfish. I couldn’t let you die. I refused.”

“You _are_ selfish,” Dorian muttered, before he shook his head. “And selfless. You nearly gave your life for me, _Amatus_ …”

“Worth it,” he said softly.

“No,” Dorian said sharply, “ _not_ worth it, do you hear me? Not worth it at all.”

“Worth it,” he said again, firmly. His eyes drifted shut, too heavy to remain open. “Where are we going?”

“Skyhold,” Dorian replied. “In case you were wondering, you’ve been unconscious for three days. Anders kept you unconscious so you could heal. He decided the worst was passed today, and you’ve beaten your infection. Your fever broke this morning. So he let you wake up.”

Let him wake up. He didn’t particularly like the sound of that, but nevertheless, he was grateful for Anders.

“Tell him… I owe him a drink, when we get back to Skyhold.”

“I will pass the message on.”

“How are _you_?” Callum asked, forcing heavy eyelids open once more. Soon he wouldn’t be able to fight the sleep clawing at him.

“Me?” Dorian asked, confused. “I wasn’t injured.”

“You were collared,” Callum said sleepily. “I remember that. And there’s different kinds of injuries.”

Dorian might not have been physically injured, but watching someone bleed out in front of you could be just as painful as the physical injury, sometimes worse. It was why Callum tried so hard to be the one with the injury, rather than the onlooker, watching helplessly. He hated being helpless.

Dorian didn’t answer for a long moment. The wagon creaked steadily, the wind blowing lightly against Callum’s face. Callum shivered beneath the blankets, wincing as the movement pulled at sore muscles. Dorian added another fur blanket onto the pile, noticing his chill.

“You should rest, _Amatus_ ,” he said finally. “We’ll talk later.”

That meant there was something to talk about. Was he in trouble again?

He was too tired to think about it right now. Sleep sounded amazing, and his eyes were already closing.

He was asleep in less than a minute.

xXx

They returned to Skyhold in just shy of a week. For the most part, Callum was confined to the wagon and slept the majority of the time. When he did wake it was only in short bursts. He ate, had the wagon stop so he could make water, and then they’d be back on their way. He despised being stuck in the wagon, but Dorian refused to budge on that matter, and Bull bodily backed him up whenever Callum tried to sneak out of it.

“Don’t make me come back there and put you back in the wagon, Boss,” the qunari would say, even though he was the one pulling the wagon along, for the most part.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Callum would answer.

And thus he remained in the wagon for the journey, with Dorian next to him, tending to his needs. He hated being mothered, but if he told Dorian to stop the mage would get this crease to his brow he didn’t like, so he just let it happen.

He’d be the same way, he told himself, if it had been Dorian who was stabbed instead of him. If he had to watch Dorian nearly bleed out in the dirt, he’d be mothering him as well. So he allowed it.

Finally, thankfully, they made it to Skyhold.

Callum climbed out of the wagon despite Dorian’s protests. Bull didn’t stop him this time, as the gates closed behind them. Hawke hurried toward them, with Cullen in tow.

“We saw you approaching,” Hawke said. “You look awful. What happened?”

“We were attacked by Venatori,” Cassandra said with a scowl. “The Herald was critically injured. Anders healed him, but we deemed it best to return to Skyhold.”

“I trust your enemies are dead?” Hawke asked, frowning. “Considering you’re still standing.”

Callum flashed him a weak smile. “Of course.”

Hawke relaxed slightly. “Good. So you weren’t followed.”

“Skyhold’s defenses are ever growing, Inquisitor,” Cullen said. “It would do them no good to attack us outright. They would fail.”

“How are you?” Hawke asked, ignoring Cullen.

“I’m fine, just don’t ask me to laugh. Still sore.”

“Uh huh.” He turned to face Dorian. “How is he, really?”

“Hey,” Callum protested. “I’m right here, you know!”

“You’re also prone to downplaying everything, Boss,” Iron Bull said. “No offense.”

“That’s a nice way of saying you’re a liar,” Emry said helpfully.

“I hate you both,” Callum muttered.

“No you don’t,” Bull said.

“He is doing much better than he was,” Dorian told Hawke.

“How bad was it?”

“Very,” was all Dorian said, mouth a thin line. He still looked awful, even days later and in daylight, like he hadn’t slept the whole time.

“He was ran through with a sword,” Emry said, scowling. “But let’s not discuss it; it was bloody enough the first time. Anders fixed him.”

Hawke looked at his old friend fondly. “Thank you.”

“I wouldn’t let him die,” Anders said, looking away. “He’s my friend, too.”

“I didn’t mean to insinuate you would; I know you wouldn’t let anyone die,” Hawke said gently.

“Well,” Callum said, clapping his hands together, “this has been fun, but I’m going to stretch my legs for a bit, _now that I can_.”

He promptly left them behind before they could start arguing. A moment later he heard footsteps behind him, and knew who it was without turning around. He waited a moment, and kept his pace, and finally Dorian caught up with him.

“Don’t overstrain yourself,” Dorian warned.

“You worry too much.”

“Considering the precedent you’ve set, I worry just the perfect amount.”

He sighed heavily. “It’s not like I go looking for danger, you know.”

“And yet you keep almost dying.” The words were meant to be light, but there was a darker undertone he heard nevertheless.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I never meant to worry you.”

Dorian said nothing, though his silence spoke volumes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added this to the note in the first chapter, but here it is again in case you missed it or haven't re-read the first chapter's note yet: I know Dorian's eyes are more gray than anything, but when I first started this story, my TV was so bad I couldn't really tell what color his eyes were so I just went with brown. And now that I have a better TV and can see the correct color, it's too late to go back and change it because I'm this far into the story, and I'm lazy. So in this story his eyes are brown. Sorry if that bothers you.


	51. Downtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callum has a lot of time to think while he's forced to have downtime. He spends most of it trying to break free of 'mother-hens' and pestering Harritt down in the Undercroft. Also, he and Dorian have a heart-to-heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while. I have not been in the mood for this story. My muse is waning. I'm sorry. Oh well, hardly anyone is reading this anyway xD So I guess it doesn't matter. We'll see how it goes, I guess. Anyway I'm really super tired and can't see straight and about to crash for the day, but wanted to go ahead and post this.

Chapter Fifty: Downtime

 

“This is totally unfair,” Callum complained as he watched everyone else drink, but was told he could not since he was still healing. He had to take it easy, and that meant no alcohol for at least another week, according to Dorian and Anders.

They could be quite stubborn.

Whenever he tried to argue, Dorian gave him that stern look with those eyebrows and that mustache, and Callum caved. He knew he was in trouble with the mage already, even if Dorian hadn’t said anything of the sort yet. He knew.

_It’s not like I go looking for danger, you know…_

It just had a way of finding him.

“Sorry,” Anders said unapologetically as he sat opposite Callum at the long table, “but I grow tired of patching you up. You’re worse than Hawke.”

“Somehow, I find that hard to believe,” Hawke said with a small laugh. He sat at one of the two ends of the table, with Cassandra at the other end, eying her cards with distaste. Hawke sipped at his ale while Fenris threw down his cards in disgust, dismissing himself from the round.

Wicked Grace was fun to play with friends – but it was better when everyone was drinking, and somehow even Cole had alcohol, but Callum did not. This was not fair, at all.

“You’ve had your fair share of close calls,” Anders said, “but I don’t think you’ve used stealth to take a hit for someone.”

“Is that what happened?” Varric asked, picking up a card. “I was wondering. I’ll make it sound heroic in my novel, don’t worry.”

“Great,” Callum muttered, rolling his eyes, “just what I need. It wasn’t as heroic as it sounds.”

“It’s kind of heroic and romantic,” Varric said from where he sat on Callum’s right. “Right, Cassandra?”

Cassandra blushed, hiding her face behind her cards. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

“Says the woman _not_ reading my romance serial,” Varric said with a laugh.

“Such a dreadfully written book,” Dorian sighed, picking up a card himself from where he sat next to Callum, on his left.

“I thought they were all right,” Zevran chimed in, sitting next to Dorian with Theron on his other side.

“They are magnificent,” Cassandra replied wistfully, before she seemed to realize what she was saying. “You didn’t hear me say that.”

“I temporarily went deaf,” Callum said, smirking at her.

“Same here,” Alistair said.

“I heard everything,” Iron Bull said with a laugh.

“Traitor,” Cassandra said.

She threw down her hand, revealing her crappy cards. She was out of this round, too.

Callum sighed and drew a card.

“We should play strip poker some time,” Zevran suggested.

“Please no,” Cullen groaned. “I am terrible at it.”

Zevran gave him a lewd grin. “That sounds like fun.” He looked at Theron. “Doesn’t that sound like fun, _mi amor_?”

“Taking the commander’s clothes does sound like fun,” Theron said with a smirk. He nudged Alistair in the ribs. “Eh, Ali?”

“I told you never to call me that,” Alistair said, cheeks reddening.

“Dori! His blush rivals yours,” Callum said with a laugh.

Dorian blushed in response, as Callum knew he would, even as the mage threw him a quick glare, taking a card from the deck. “I do not know what you mean.”

“You lie, mage,” Fenris said, quirking a brow at him.

Callum laughed again; getting Fenris involved was just priceless, especially with the way Dorian just kind of spluttered and stared at him for a moment.

“I do not blush!” Dorian finally said, though his cheeks were red.

“You kind of do,” Iron Bull said, smirking.

“Silence, you heathen,” Dorian said.

“Heathen, am I?” A glint appeared in Bull’s eyes.

“Yes, you’re all heathens.” Dorian’s gaze landed on Callum. “You especially.”

“All my friends are heathens, and I’m not ashamed,” Callum said proudly, smirking at the table.

A bar maid walked by; he grabbed her arm and whispered for her bring him so alcohol. Dorian promptly shook his head at her, giving her a glare that promised harm if she attempted to do as Callum said. Callum pouted as she walked away, shaking her head.

“Dori,” he groaned, “let me have fun.”

“Not with alcohol,” Dorian said, taking a sip of his own. “You’re not missing out on much, I’m afraid; this isn’t fine wine.”

“I’m sure it’s much better in Tevinter,” Emry said, rolling his eyes.

“Say what you will about the North, but our alcohol is better,” Dorian said.

“I can’t argue with you there,” Hawke said, shrugging. “Fenris had some of that wine from Tevinter before; that stuff will throw you to the ground.”

“It was good,” Fenris said fondly.

“It was,” Hawke agreed, dropping his hand of cards. “Alright, I’m out.”

“So soon?” Varric asked. “Losing your touch.”

Hawke rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

“Where’s Sera, tonight?” Callum asked. “I’m surprised she’d miss a game.”

“Who knows?” Fenris asked, clearly scowling at her name.

But then, he didn’t particularly like anyone, except perhaps Hawke and Varric.

“She’s corresponding with Leliana and Josephine in the War Room,” Cullen replied, picking up a card. “Something about Red Jenny.”

“Oh, good,” Hawke said. “More of those missions for us.”

“She said she’d try to join us when they were finished,” Cullen said.

“I imagine she said it more colorfully than that,” Callum said.

Sera had a foul mouth, after all, and a way with words.

It irked Callum at first, because she used ‘colorful’ language every other word, it seemed, but she definitely grew on him. He enjoyed her pranks, even if Hawke did not.

Cullen shifted in his seat. “Yes, but I don’t dare repeat it here.”

Callum threw down one card. “Right. Who says we let the Herald drink?”

“Good Heralds don’t drink,” Emry said dismissively.

“I never said anything about being a good Herald, now did I?”

“You’re not drinking,” Anders said. “I patch you up too often.”

“So you’re going to hold this against me?” Callum whined, pouting at him. “That’s completely unfair. Hawke, tell him to let me have alcohol; you’re his boss, he’ll listen to you.”

“Technically, I’m everyone’s boss,” Hawke said, quirking a brow. “But I agree with him; no drinking for you.”

“Now you’re all just ganging up on me.”

“But of course,” Theron said, chuckling. “It wouldn’t be any fun otherwise.”

“Fun for you, maybe, not me,” Callum said, picking up another card.

“So,” Zevran said, picking up a card as well, “who wants to play strip poker after this?”

xXx

The bed in Callum’s quarters was large and comfortable, and it had never felt more amazing than when he crawled into it at the end of a long day. He’d been back at Skyhold for two days now, but this was the first time he was truly able to enjoy it – the first day had been filled with debriefings in the War Room, and discussions with Hawke about what to do next, and by the time all of that was finished he was dead on his feet. He didn’t even remember walking up the stairs to his room, but he assumed Dorian must have helped him, though the mage was gone when he woke the next morning. Tonight, though, Dorian crawled in next to him and Callum smiled sleepily at him, curling under the covers.

Dorian didn’t smile back. A shiver went through Callum, though not exactly from the cold. He sat up against his pillows – Josephine always gave him so many – and looked at Dorian in the faint glow of the candlelight, flickering across the room on a shelf.

“Alright,” he said tiredly, “out with it.”

“You’re tired,” Dorian said. “We can discuss it later.”

“I want to discuss it now. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Dorian exhaled slowly, looking away from him.

“Are you… angry with me?” Callum asked.

The mage exhaled sharply. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Alright – why, exactly? What did I do?”

“What did you-…? What do you mean what did you do?” Dorian shook his head. “Where do I even begin?”

“From the beginning, I’d say,” Callum said, before he winced. Dorian was already upset; he didn’t need Callum’s snarky responses, but he couldn’t quite help himself. It was a defense tactic when things got too serious, too rough, and right now he just really hated that dark look in Dorian’s eyes.

Dorian scowled at him, the dim lighting only punctuating the furrow of his brows and the shadows on his face. “You’re reckless and foolish, and do you even care about your life?”

The frustration in his voice was evident. Callum winced. He promised he’d be more careful, and he knew that. He knew he’d been reckless lately, but it wasn’t entirely his fault. Dorian couldn’t blame him for everything. “I’m sorry I went off alone,” he said quietly, looking away. “I shouldn’t have. It was foolish. I just needed some air. I need time to think, and you were all hovering…”

“We were hovering because you just went physically into the Fade,” Dorian said, like he didn’t, couldn’t, understand. It was obvious to the mage, but to Callum it was different. Yes, he went physically into the Fade. Yes, he chose to remain behind instead of the others, instead of Theron or Alistair.

But he only did that so that everyone could live. They’d find another way to stop Corypheus if something happened to him; they had to. They couldn’t just rely solely on him, because he was just one person. He didn’t even have magic, he was just a useless rogue going against an old god, if what Corypheus said was to be believed. What could he do against him, without the Anchor? The mark was what made him special; he wasn’t special in his own right. If something happened to him… then the rest of the Inquisition would find a way to recover, and rebuild what they had lost. They would succeed and defeat Corypheus without him.

So, in the end… it didn’t matter if he was reckless, or foolish, as Dorian said.

Except it did. A lot.

Because he promised he’d be more careful.

He promised Dorian.

“Are you even listening to me?”

He sighed heavily, and dragged his gaze up, toward Dorian’s face again. The mage was still scowling at him, though the frustration won out over the anger. He just seemed tired now, and irritated. Irritated that Callum might be ignoring him, but that wasn’t what Callum was doing.

“I’m sorry,” Callum said, frowning at him. “I know I promised I’d be more careful.”

The anger dispersed entirely from Dorian’s face. Now he just looked tired. “You did. And then you entered the Fade and thought it would be a good idea to sacrifice yourself.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it.”

“What do you mean?”

Dorian looked away. For a long moment, he was silent. When he did speak, his voice was rough and thick, heavy with emotion, and it left Callum’s spine snapping taut. “I watched you die.”

“Dorian,” he said, reaching for the mage, fingers clasping onto Dorian’s arm. He was thankful when he wasn’t pushed away or shoved off. “Dorian, no. I didn’t die. You kept me alive.”

“Barely,” Dorian said, almost breathless as he continued to look away.

“Okay, but you saved me,” Callum said. “I don’t know how you kept me alive, but you did. I’m okay now.”

“You took the blow for me.”

“Well… yeah,” Callum said, frowning at him again, confused. “I couldn’t just let him hurt you.”

_I couldn’t just let him kill you._

He didn’t say it aloud, but the words hung between them nevertheless.

“And how do you think I would have felt, if I was the reason you had died?” Dorian asked flatly. He had yet to pull away, but he also hadn’t looked at Callum, either.

Callum scowled. “Probably the same I would have felt, if I let you die because I wandered off alone and you came looking for me.” He exhaled loudly. “Do you have any idea how I felt, when I saw you with that thing around your neck? When I saw you powerless, and knew it was because of me?”

Dorian remained silent, though his posture had stiffened.

“I went for a walk on my own – which, yes, was _foolish_ , thank you – but you went after me alone, and you got captured. I had to help you. And when that… ugh…” Just thinking about left him grimacing, anger pulsating through him, along with dread and worry. “When that brute charged at you with that sword, I just… I couldn’t let him do it. It would have been my fault.”

Dorian would have been critically wounded, if not killed, as Callum certainly wouldn’t have been able to save him. He didn’t have magic himself; only his mark did. He wouldn’t have been able to keep Dorian alive long enough for the others to find them. Only Dorian had managed to do that with Callum.

“It was foolish to wander off alone, I know, and I’m sorry I got you in trouble. I’m sorry we _both_ got in trouble. But I’m not sorry for saving you.”

Dorian still had yet to look at him, although he was very, very still. Rigid.

It left Callum dizzy with dread. _He’s going to leave. I promised to be more careful because he said he couldn’t do it if…_

But what did that mean? Would Dorian just leave him?

Panic clawed at his throat. He couldn’t breathe, and he couldn’t understand why.

If Dorian left him… if he ditched him, broke up with him, whatever…

Callum wouldn’t lose just this relationship, but his friendship as well, and that was something he couldn’t accept. For years now, Dorian had been a steady presence either in his mind or at his side; he couldn’t let that slip away now, not after all they had been through together. Yes, he promised to be more careful and not get hurt as much, but it honestly wasn’t like he went _looking_ for danger. He didn’t go looking for trouble. He just felt pathetic and useless after his nightmare… and wandered off alone. He had his daggers; he was fine.

But then Dorian followed after him, and everything was Callum’s fault. If he wasn’t such a pathetic, useless coward…

But he was. He was a pathetic, useless coward. Why was Dorian with him?

 _Maybe he_ should _leave…_

The thought was unpleasant, and left the knot of panic curling tighter in his chest, but it slid through his mind nevertheless.

“Stop that.”

Callum blinked, refocusing on Dorian, who was looking at him again. “What?”

“I won’t have you sulking on top of everything else.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“You’re downright pouting.”

“I am not.”

“Quite the argument,” Dorian said.

Callum sighed. “Alright, fine, I’m _pouting_. I just… I’m sorry, but I’d do it all over again. Even the stupid part of wandering off alone, because I’m a foolish, reckless rogue who never learns.”

Dorian’s lips quirked upward slightly. “Well, admittance is the first step to recovery, I’m told.”

“Yes, I am the epitome of progress,” Callum said, rolling his eyes, before he lowered his gaze, his voice turning serious once more. “Can you forgive me?”

“Of course I can, _Amatus_ ,” Dorian said softly, causing Callum to look up at him again. Soft brown eyes were latched onto him, searching his face, before a small smile flitted across Dorian’s face. “Though I have to ask, if you must participate in such dramatic rescues, please attempt to not nearly die in the process.”

Callum smirked. “But where’s the fun in that?”

Dorian scowled at him. “There was no _fun_ in that, I can assure you.”

Callum winced. “I’m sorry, that was in poor taste. I just… I guess you kind of make me nervous. When you’re angry with me. Which is a lot. And I’m going to stop talking now.”

“I’m not angry with you so much as I’m angry at myself,” Dorian said, brown eyes flitting away.

Callum frowned at the mage. “Why are you angry at yourself?”

“I got captured, and you got hurt because of me,” Dorian replied.

“That’s silly, Dorian. I’m the one who wandered off; you just went looking for me, like I would have done for you. It’s my fault, not yours.”

“Perhaps we are both at fault.”

Callum shrugged. “Maybe. A little. But oh well. How about this – I’ll forgive you if you forgive me?”

“You have yourself a deal,” Dorian said.

Callum smirked and slipped closer to Dorian.

xXx

The week passed slowly. Callum felt fine, and completely healed, but Anders still insisted that he not drink any alcohol, and take it easy. Dorian made certain that he followed the healer’s orders. Hawke took care of business at Skyhold, sitting in the small throne to judge people, and afterward he spent time with Bull at the tavern while Callum lamented the fact he couldn’t drink anything yet.

Emry stopped by his room once, to check on him, but otherwise stayed out of the castle. He preferred his little hut and kept to himself for the most part. He acted a little on edge the last time Callum saw him; he’d have to keep an eye on his friend.

Theron and his group were settling in nicely, though the elf mentioned they might leave soon to continue on their way. He still hadn’t found a cure to the Calling yet, though he felt he was making progress. He still had a few years before he would feel it, he thought, so there was time. Callum sincerely hoped he found a cure, and told him that if and when he did, he needed to tell Callum and the Inquisition right away. Theron agreed. He didn’t know when he and the others would be leaving, but he promised to keep in touch when they did.

Everyone was doing fine, except he was getting very bored and very, very tired of ‘taking it easy’. He knew he could have died; he knew his wounds were serious. But Anders healed him, and he felt much better. He wasn’t even tender anymore, not really, unless he moved wrong. The bandaging was off and everything; he was fine! And yet, Dorian made certain he stayed in bed as much as possible, and didn’t do anything strenuous, as per Anders’ wishes. And absolutely no alcohol.

Callum wasn’t an alcoholic by any means, but he did enjoy a glass of something now and then, and sometimes he drank more than he should. He always hated the hangovers, but it was fun to drink with friends, and he found himself surrounded by so many friends he didn’t know what to do with them all. He’d never had so many friends before. They weren’t just allies; they were his friends. And he wanted to drink with them.

He tried helping Hawke with his duties to help pass the time, but Hawke stressed out his well-being almost as much as Dorian. He either had Callum do paperwork with Josephine, or let him hover over the war room papers with Cullen, but he never let him do any heavy lifting or training with himself or Cassandra, and after two or so hours he always sent Callum off to rest.

It was tiresome, truly.

He wasn’t an invalid.

The only thing that kept him sane that week was Dorian.

As much as he was frustrated with how much Dorian tried to keep him in his room or in bed and resting, he did appreciate it, honestly. It meant Dorian cared, meant he was worried, and it had been a long time since someone doted on him like that. Since someone worried so much, since they babied him so much.

His mother used to sit with him when he was sick and read him stories, keeping him bed. She’d bring him warm broth when he could stomach it, and cleaned up after him when he couldn’t. She never argued about any of it, either. She just smiled at him and brushed back his sweaty bangs and kissed his forehead goodnight.

He missed that. Missed her.

So much.

It had been a long time; he’d have thought he’d be over this by now, would be used to his family’s absence, but the pain never really went away. It lingered, and sometimes it hurt just as much as the day it happened.

Dorian reminded him of her, sometimes.

He’d never say that to the mage, of course.

Comparing his male lover to his mother could be mood killer.

Instead, he simply enjoyed Dorian’s company and tried not to get too grouchy with him, in his more frustrated moments.

Since he couldn’t do any hard labor himself, and everyone tried to get him to rest, he spent a lot of his time hiding from everyone in the Undercroft, not forging himself but telling the blacksmith what he wanted done. Harritt was great at his job, and listened to what Callum wanted made. Soon enough Dorian’s new staff was ready, and he couldn’t wait to give it to the necromancer.

His own daggers were in the making, but wouldn’t be ready for a few weeks. Harritt spent the majority of his time on Dorian’s new fire staff. Callum thought it suited ‘Sparkler’ perfectly. He snickered quietly to himself at the thought, though he’d never tell Dorian that.

The staff was complete, for the most part, but Callum wanted it to be perfect before he gave it to Dorian. He sketched out a few designs for the grip and the crystal, and Harritt said it wouldn’t be a problem. Callum tried to help, but Hawke had apparently been a busybody and informed Harritt that Callum was to do nothing except sit there quietly.

Which, he didn’t. He wasn’t quiet.

He was bored, and tired of everyone walking on eggshells trying to keep him inside or away from hard work or strenuous activity, and Harritt was surprisingly easy to talk to. He spent a lot of his time in the Undercroft, surrounded by the sound of metal on metal as Harritt beat pieces into submission. He enjoyed it down there.

Finally, the week passed and the ban was lifted, and he happily jumped out of bed on that final day, startling Dorian who had previously been sound asleep next to him. Dorian scowled at his enthusiasm before Callum left the room, hurrying downstairs to finally get to work and be able to do something.

xXx

Dorian shook his head as he watched Callum practically bounce out of the room. The rogue had a lot of pent up energy from this past week, though Dorian was grateful he remained mostly compliant the whole time. Callum always tried not to take his bad mood out on anyone.

It had been about two weeks since the attack in the Western Approach; two weeks since Callum nearly bled out in the sand. Two short weeks. Anders said he was healed; he would be sore for a little while, yes, but the worst was over and he was out of danger. The wound would scar, but it was healed.

Dorian sighed and climbed out of bed. He dressed and exited the room, not looking for Callum just yet, but attempting to prepare himself nevertheless. Since it was the first day Callum could do anything, as per Anders’ wishes, Dorian was going to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn’t do anything reckless. If that meant following him all over Skyhold then that was just what he was going to do.

He took his time getting ready, still feeling fatigued despite the adequate sleep he got. The longer he stayed here, doing little physical activity, the more tired he became, his body becoming used to the peace and quiet. He needed to train more in the mornings or before bed, like he used to. He hadn’t been doing it lately because if Callum had to be ‘relaxing’, then he said Dorian had to, too, or the deal was off. So Dorian relaxed. Not that he was complaining about relaxing; it was just his technique would soon start to suffer if he didn’t practice with his staff soon.

While it was true he didn’t have his old staff anymore, and he had yet to buy a replacement, he could still practice with one of the weaker ones in the crates laying around. They were for practicing, after all; perfect for him to keep up his technique without actually casting spells. Fire was bad for the bedroom, after all.

Once he was ready, he set out to find Callum and drag him off to breakfast.

He found Callum, surprisingly enough, in the stables.

He was feeding one of the horses with a handful of something, and patting the horse’s nose as it ate. He turned when Dorian approached, footsteps crunching hay, and a smile flitted across the rogue’s face.

“Hey, Dori,” he said warmly, still petting the horse’s nose.

“I never took you as a horse person,” Dorian said.

“I’m not, really,” Callum said, smirking. “I came here to talk to Blackwall, but he’s not here right now. But then I heard this guy whining, so…” He shrugged, and stopped petting the horse. The horse snorted at him, and returned to grazing hay from its bedding.

“What did you need to speak with Blackwall about?” Dorian asked.

Callum shrugged again. “I don’t know. I ran into Hawke and he said he wanted to get Blackwall’s opinion on something with the wardens, but he’s not here. I guess Hawke can find him later.”

Dorian nodded. “I suggest we get breakfast, before all the good food is gone.”

Callum smirked again. “Yeah, well, our friends are pigs.”

“Indeed they are.”

“Just probably don’t let them hear you say that. Bull and Emry wouldn’t mind, but women can get picky about their figure.”

Dorian snorted. “Indeed, they can. Glad I don’t mess with them.”

Callum laughed. “Same here. They’re too much drama.”

“And men are not drama?”

“Men are all sorts of drama, but it’s more lowkey ‘what drama? I’m not drama’ drama than anything else,” Callum said. “With women it’s all, ‘you made all this food for me? Are you saying I’m fat? You made this little food for me? Are you saying I’m fat?’ You can never win.”

“You say this like you have experience.”

“Oh, I do,” Callum said, shaking his head. “More than I care to admit. I tried my hand at dating, but women are just… I’ll stick to flings with them. Men, on the other hand…” He smirked, gaze running up and down Dorian.

He felt his cheeks flushing and warmth bubbling in his stomach. He quickly forced that feeling away as they started their walk back up to the main area, and toward the tavern.

“And there’s Denny,” Callum said with a laugh. “Hello, again. It’s been a little while.”

“Hush, you,” Dorian muttered.

“Aw, but it’s cute.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

“I think I know what I find cute.”

Dorian shook his head; there was no winning with this rogue.

But then, where was the fun in winning?

xXx

Anders insisted on checking on Callum one final time to give him the official all-clear, and Callum reluctantly sat through his check-up. Dorian stood off to the sidelines of the room, watching but not interrupting. Once Anders was finished, he nodded, apparently satisfied, and got to his feet.

“Everything looks okay,” he told Callum. “You might still feel a little sore or tire easily, but that will go away.”

“I feel fine,” Callum said.

Dorian was going to invest in a dictionary, or thesaurus. Although, he wasn’t sure if the word ‘fine’ was getting to him, Callum’s wrong definition of it, or if him using a word other than ‘fine’ would help.

“I’m sure you do,” Anders replied with a smirk. He looked at Dorian as he passed him, heading toward the stairs leading out of Callum’s room. “I’ll leave him in your capable hands.”

Dorian nodded, and Anders took his leave. He turned his attention back toward Callum, who sat on the bed, actually pouting. There was no other way to describe that look on his face. A laugh fought its way out of Dorian’s throat.

“Cute,” he said, mocking Callum’s earlier words.

The scowl, the _pout_ , on his face grew. “I am not _cute_.”

“You’re pouting. It is, as you say, cute.”

“It’s _not_. Feel my scowl! Feel it!”

Dorian shook his head, approaching the bed.

Callum rolled his eyes, but the scowl gave way to a smirk. It shifted to a smile when Dorian sat next to him. “So, I got a clean bill of health.”

“It appears so, for now,” Dorian said, nodding. “Do try to keep it that way.”

“You act like I’m accident-prone.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No,” Callum said, scowling again. “I’m danger-prone. Danger just finds me. It’s not like I trip over my feet and land in trouble – the trouble trips over me and is suddenly in my face.”

“A rather apt description.”

The rogue did have a point; he never truly went searching for danger, and he never set out to be reckless. It just happened, a lot. Perhaps he was danger-prone, as he said.

“I have something for you,” Callum said, suddenly getting to his feet.

Dorian watched as Callum moved across the room, his footsteps light and easy. He pried open a door and stepped inside the little closeted room, and then poked his head back out to smirk at Dorian.

“Close your eyes.”

Dorian closed them.

“Keep them closed. No peeking.”

“No peeking,” Dorian agreed.

He heard soft footfalls, the drag of something against the ground briefly, and then Callum’s warm voice again, right in front of him now. It took all he had not to open his eyes, but he kept them closed for the time being. “Hold out your hands.”

Dorian did as asked, and something smooth was placed in his grasped. His fingers curled around the cylindrical object instinctively, and he knew it was a staff even before he opened his eyes. He stared at the expert craftsmanship, the little runes and designs etched along the grip and up through the length of the staff, and for a long moment he forgot how to breath. Finally it came rushing out of him in one quick, ragged breath and his gaze slid toward Callum, who stood there smiling at him.

“Do you like it?” the rogue asked.

It took a long time for Dorian to find his voice. “You made this for me?”

“Well, _I_ didn’t make it, personally,” Callum said, shrugging. “No labor, remember? But I sketched the design and Harritt took care of the rest. Sorry it took so long; I had to make sure it was right. We just finished it earlier today.”

“I… do not know what to say.”

Truthfully, he had no idea what he was supposed to say here. Absolutely no idea. No one had ever done anything like this for him before; no one had made him a staff before. No one had taken this much time to do something for him.

Of course, he shouldn’t be surprised by Callum’s antics anymore, he reasoned. The rogue was always full of surprises; it was best if he just expected the unexpected, and then he would no longer feel like _this_ – surprised, guilty, and in awe. It was a strange mixture of emotions.

They didn’t sit well in his stomach.

He was definitely surprised by the staff, but he felt guilty. Callum should have spent his time recuperating, or crafting himself his own weapons since his were chipped and breaking, but instead he spent his time down in the forge to help Harritt craft something for Dorian. And Dorian was in awe of the staff he received as a gift, and in awe of the rogue who presented it to him.

He simply could not find the words.

Callum smiled. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, seemingly understanding. “I just wanted you to have a new weapon.”

“Thank you,” Dorian finally said, having found his voice once more.

Callum leaned close, leaned low, and his lips met Dorian’s in a light kiss. Dorian was not used to such kisses; in Tevinter, everything was a worried, frantic frenzy. Kisses were rough and demanding, not chaste and light, simple touches of pressure. This was entirely different from the kisses he’d had in the past. He didn’t hate this; in fact, he could get quite used to this.

Used to Callum’s kisses.

Callum pulled back with a wide grin. “Do you want to practice? You haven’t been able to in a while.”

Dorian laughed. “How is you can read me as though I am an open book?”

“I’m just good at flipping through your pages,” Callum replied with a quick smirk. “So is that a yes to the training?”

“Yes,” Dorian said, nodding as he clasped the new staff tightly. “I will train.”

“Great! Hawke’s training, too. Do you want me to take you to him? He’s got some targets set up. You can get a feel for the new staff.”

It seemed like Callum had things planned out. Dorian laughed again. “Very well, _Amatus_. Lead the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> Again, not everything is going to be perfect. I'm trying not to use game dialogue and go from memory rather than give you a play-by-play, as we've all probably played the game and know what happens. I'm trying to change things if I can so it's a little more interesting. I'm sorry Dorian is a bit OOC - honestly I didn't plan for him to be that way. But Callum met him in the most vulnerable part of his life, right after he fled Tevinter, and I guess he just never got to the point where he shoved absolutely everyone away and built a sarcastic wall, or is just closer to Callum so he doesn't need to be cocky and stuff like he is in the game. I don't know. Every single time I try to make him like he is in the game it backfires and leaves him blushing and Callum snickering at him, so I just - oh well. Sorry if this bothers you. My Dorian is not the game's Dorian apparently, but I'm okay with that. If you're not, I'm sorry. I understand. Thanks for reading anyway. Comments are love! =3


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